


this precious life of yours (will break my heart)

by hereyeswerestars



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, BDSM, BDSM Contract negotiation, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Good BDSM Etiquette, Light Angst, Lots of sexual tension, M/M, Spanking, anya is a poor college student, anya's a sub, dimitry is gay, gleb is a professor and administrator, gleb is obv a dom, overstimulation/edging, porn in chapter 4, very hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereyeswerestars/pseuds/hereyeswerestars
Summary: look at that, another sugar daddy fic . #sorrynotsorry hehei'm new to this fandom, i grew up w the movie but just watched a bootleg of the musical a few days ago and fell in LOVE w gleb n anya's relationship . so here's the efforts of 4 am musings: what if anya was a struggling college student going to university in paris and gleb her handsome professor ? what if they fell in love and had lots of naughty sex ? well, we'll get there .title inspired by suite francaise, a beautiful movie go check it out !





	1. lonesomely wholesome, magically tragic

**Author's Note:**

> "babe, there's something tragic about you  
> something so magic about you  
> don't you agree?
> 
> babe, there's something lonesome about you  
> something so wholesome about you  
> get closer to me." _hozier, from eden

“Class dismissed,” Professor Vaganov announced, setting down the textbook he had been waving around and straightening his tie. Most of the students stood quietly and began to file out, save for two troublemakers in the back.

 

“Fucking finally,” one drawled, a stunning blonde named Anya with a clever, sarcastic, and much too salacious mouth. Her partner-in-crime, Dimitry, laughed and stretched, powerful arms reaching for the classroom’s ceiling.

 

“Miss Romanov, a word,” the professor barked, startling the two students.

 

“I have a class to get to,” Anya said, raising a perfectly arched brow. But she remained seated, and Dimitry slunk out, mouthing “good luck.” 

 

Vaganov strode towards her, hands in his suit pockets.

 

“Unless you wish to fail mine, we talk. I know I’m new to this school, but I will not fall for your games. The other professors love your smart mouth and fiery attitude, but this is a professional environment, and you will not pass with the direction you’re headed here.” He finished with a glare, and Anya yawned behind a perfectly-manicured hand.

 

“Is that all?” She asked, moving to stand up. Vaganov clenched his fists and prowled closer, until their chests were nearly touching and he could look down into her ridiculously brilliant baby blues. (She was so  _ small,  _ at least six inches shorter than him, but when she glared up at him with that fire in her eyes she seemed all-powerful.)

 

“You’ve missed half the classes, only turned in two assignments, and are barely above a C. So if you wish to flunk this semester, yes, that is all.” 

 

Finally, something other than contempt rose in the girl’s eyes, and it gave Vaganov a vicious thrill to see it was fear.

 

“What do I have to do?” She asked, taking a step back and knocking into her desk. 

 

Vaganov realized how close they were and stepped back as well, leaving a desk-space between them. It didn’t help his desire to shove Anya against a wall and kiss her until she screamed with want—

 

“At this point in the semester, private tutoring sessions are the only way you’ll pass.” Vaganov smiled, clenching his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms and hoping it was enough to stop the heat in his stomach stop from becoming arousal in his pants. "And you'll need to resubmit all your failed assignments before the semester is over." 

 

“Fuck.” Anya pursed her lips, and Vaganov had to think of musty old historians to ignore the image of Anya’s perfect pink lips forming such a disgusting word. 

 

“First lesson, no more swearing in my classroom.” 

 

“Oh really? What are you going to do about it?” She smirked, stepping around him and heading for the door. He grabbed her wrist, effectively spinning her around and stopping her mere inches from his chest. 

 

“There are much worse things than failing a class, Miss Romanov,” he whispered, treasuring the confusion and fear in her eyes. He let go of her wrist to open the classroom door. “Meet me tomorrow in my office. Twelve-thirty.” 

 

“Y-yes, Sir,” Anya murmured, quickly stepping out of the classroom. Fear shot through Vaganov as he realized he may have gone too far; what if the girl reported him to the school board? 

 

But apparently his entirely inappropriate behavior hadn’t been minded, because right before Anya stepped passed the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder and grinned at Vaganov, then licked her lips and was gone.

 

Holy  _ fuck.  _ He was so screwed. Flirting with a student?  _ Touching  _ her in the classroom?

 

Gleb groaned and shut the door behind her, sagging against it. In the history of his bad ideas, this was certainly the worst. And yet, when he thought of the girl’s curly golden hair bouncing as she walked, those brilliant turquoise eyes… 

 

This was the most fun he’d had since the fucking war. And he wasn’t going to mess it up this time. 

 

*** 

 

Anya could barely pay attention during Sociology of Religion, her second and last class of the day. This professor was kind, but boring, and she spent the hour seeing how many Goldfish crackers she could stack on her desk without toppling over. (The answer— twelve, but she probably could have stacked more had the asshole sitting next to her not flicked them all over her desk.) 

Her interaction with Vaganov was whirling through her mind, and she was out the door the second Professor Martin dismissed them. 

 

She practically ran home after class, ignoring the heavy weight of the backpack on her shoulders and the darkening Paris skies—even though it was early afternoon. September brought with it cruel winds and dark clouds. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and scowled. Dimitry has always told her that her mouth would get her in trouble, and now look where she was. A goddamn fly caught in Vaganov’s web. She flirted with all her professors, sure, but there was something about him in particular that was different from the rest. His piercing gaze, his thundering voice whenever she toed a line—well, it seemed today she had crossed it.

 

She sighed. At least she didn’t have any classes tomorrow—which meant she had to cancel her photoshoot with Dimitry for her meeting with Vaganov.  _ Fuck. _

 

She stopped on the sidewalk and pulled out her phone, sending a quick text to her best friend. A biker nearly crashed into her, swearing at her in French, and she flipped him off.

 

She was grateful for the life she had created in Paris, the freedoms she had, but sometimes… sometimes, a forgotten world called to her, like a family she had never met and never could. Maybe that was why she loved photography so much, she felt like she could catch glimpses of the other side.

 

Anya shook her head and continued walking. Enough with the fantasies, she told herself. It’s not like they’ve ever done any good.

 

A few minutes later, Anya was trudging up the steps to her apartment, trying to calm her thoughts and slap a smile on her face. Her grandma was incredibly intuitive, but hopefully she wouldn’t ask too many questions about school. She couldn’t handle that today.

 

“Hi Nana,” she called as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

 

“Anya! We made cookies, they’re on the stove.” Anya’s grandmother was upon her in an instant, enveloping her in a hug. The girl sighed into her touch, feeling the conflict ease away as she smelled her Nana’s familiar scent of jasmine and cat litter.

 

“Wait, we?” Anya asked, pulling away. It was always the two of them in their small apartment, unless—

 

“Yes, today’s the day my Red Hat ladies come over! Didn’t I tell you?” Maria pulled back, scrutinizing Anya’s face, and Anya realized her Nana was wearing the traditional purple dress and elegant red hat.

 

“Oh, yes you did. Sorry, today’s been long.”

 

“There aren’t any professors giving you trouble, are there? I’ll go and kick their asses,” Nana chuckled, pulling Anya into the kitchen slash living room, the biggest room in the apartment. She smiled at the old ladies sitting on their two ancient couches, and they smiled back politely. 

 

If only you knew, Anya thought, smiling wryly. “No, Nana. I’m just tired.” 

 

“Cookies are the solution to everything! And tea, of course.” 

 

Anya laughed, although it sounded a little forced to her ears, and grabbed a cookie. They truly were delicious, and she ate several and sipped some lemon tea as she listened to the quiet conversations of Nana and her friends. Once she had eaten half the plate—Anya couldn’t afford to buy lunch on campus—she headed to her room, pulling her ancient phone out of her jean pocket. 

 

**Dima:** So the prof let u off with extra tutoring?? 

 

Anya sighed and stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her and opening the curtains to let the feeble afternoon night through. 

 

**Anya:** yeah . do you want to shoot tonight maybe , or Friday ? 

 

she kicked off her Converse and socks, then flopped onto her bed and grabbed her camera. Photography always made her feel better. Even when she had no motivation, looking through old pictures helped a lot. 

 

**Dima:** Can’t tonight, I got a date with Vlad. Friday works! 

**Dima:** and what the hell happened with Vaganov? Girl u can’t leave me hanging D: 

 

Anya glanced from her camera and sighed. 

 

**Anya:** I don’t really want to talk about it . he gives me weird vibes , but I can’t help myself , I kind of flirt with him ? And today I think he flirted back ? god , I don’t know what I’m doing . how the hell do you talk to guys ? 

 

She glared at the screen for a moment, then groaned and tossed her phone on her pillow. A second later, her phone buzzed, and she laughed half-heartedly as she read her text.

 

**Dima:** WHAT 

**Dima:** GIIRRLLL 

**Dima:** okay holy shit . first of all HOLY SHIT. Second of all, do you realize how illegal this shit is? Well, you aren’t underage but STILL! 

**Dima:** and for talking to guys ? Honestly I have no idea it really isn’t easier if ur gay . 

 

Anya rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. 

 

**Anya:** can i just call u ? 

 

A few seconds later, Dimitry was calling her. 

 

“Girl!” He shouted over the phone, causing her to flinch and frantically press the volume button. 

 

“I know,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck to  _ do.” _

 

“Well, obviously not him.” 

 

_ “Dima!”  _ she cried, eyes going wide. “I’d never do that!” but even as the words escaped her lips, the image of Professor Vaganov on top of her, pounding her into the mattress, turned her on faster than you could say “fuck me.” 

 

Dimitry snorted. “Okay, well at least you only have to see him twice a week. Just stay in the back with me, stop making smart-ass comments, and you’ll be fine!”

 

Anya sighed. “But tomorrow I’ll be in his office, alone, for private tutoring! And what if he gets sick of me and decides to fail me? I have to pass this class, D.”

 

“Honestly, Anya, I think you’re overthinking it. He knows he can lose his job for even flirting with you. You can always call in sick, but I know you, and you’re stronger than that. You can do this.”

 

Dimitry’s kind words soothed the anxiety in Anya’s heart, and she smiled weakly. “Thanks, Dima.” she heard sounds of laughter and a door opening, and got off her bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold floor. “What would I do without you?” 

 

“Die a horrible death,” he said, and Anya could hear the laughter in his voice. 

 

“I appreciate the honesty,” Anya replied, rolling her eyes. “Nana’s friends are leaving, so I’m gonna eat lunch with her then start on homework. I should probably study for tomorrow…” Anya trailed off, thinking with a mixture of dread and excitement of Vaganov’s depthless brown eyes. 

 

“Okay, go finish the million essays you bullshitted. And say hi to Nana for me!” 

 

“Actually, it was only three,” Anya corrected, but her best friend had already hung up. “Asshole,” she muttered, grabbing a new pair of fluffy socks and pulling them onto her cold feet. They couldn’t afford to run the heater all night anymore, which meant the upcoming winter was not going to be an easy one. Especially on her aging grandmother. 

 

“Hey, Nana, how are your friends doing?” Anya stepped into the kitchen, smiling at the only family she had left. 

 

“The usual. Veronique’s husband is cheating on her, Lucy is considering getting a fourteenth cat, and Bella came out to us as lesbian. Which I always suspected, but…” Maria took one look at Anya’s tired expression and stopped talking. “There’s leftover tea and cookies, and I’ll make us some pasta. Gnocchi alright?” 

 

“Nana, you don’t have to, I can order in,” Anya protested, trying to lift her lips into a smile. It felt more like a grimace. But she sat down at the kitchen table when Maria gave her a glare that could peel paint.

 

“Gnocchi is fine,” she consented. 

 

Maria bustled around the kitchen, her humming filling the companionable silence. Once the pasta was boiling on the stove, she took the seat across Anya, holding her own mug of lemon tea.  “My darling zaika,” Maria sighed, reaching with a wrinkled hand to touch Anya’s. “I know our life is hard right now, and I’m sorry. If only I hadn’t believed that con-man last year—“ 

 

“Nana, that wasn’t your fault!” Anya interrupted, squeezing her grandmother’s frail hand with both of her own. “He was a terrible person, and you thought he needed help. We’ll get through it. We’ve gone through worse.” 

 

Maria sighed and drank from her  _ #1 Grandma _ mug. “I suppose. I just wanted to say, Anya, it seems like you’re going through a hard time right now. And it may seem like I won’t understand, and I might not, but that doesn’t mean I won’t love you no matter what. I’ll  _ always  _ be here for you, kroshka.” 

 

Anya felt tears prickle in her eyes, and she smiled weakly and let go of her Nana’s hand to rub at her eyes. “I love you, Nana,” she said, guilt rising like bile in her throat. But there was no way she’d tell her what was happening at school. She didn’t need to stress her out more, not when there was already so much on her plate. 

 

“I love you,” Nana replied, smiling at Anya. The pot on the stove began to boil, breaking the silence, and Nana stood to serve the two of them. 

 

“I can pick up more shifts at work, I’m not working Mondays and Fridays.” 

 

“No, Anya, I want you to have time to study, and be with your friends. And talk like this, with me.” Maria turned from the pasta to look at Anya, hand going absentmindedly to the chain always around her neck. She fingered the flower bauble identical to the one hanging around Anya’s neck.  _ Together in Paris _ , read the inscription on the back. And they would be, for as long as Anya lived on this earth. 

 

“Alright, Nana.” Anya downed the last of her tea in a gulp, savoring the way the hot liquid burned her tongue and wishing it was something stronger. 

 

“Gnocchi pasta served a la carte with an Alfredo pesto sauce and goat cheese crumbles for your precious enjoyment,” Nana stated grandly, placing a bowl full of pasta before Anya. 

 

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Anya cried, attacking the dish gleefully. She  _ loved  _ pasta. She knew as a Russian-American she should try other culture’s foods, especially living in France, but  _ Jesus.  _ If anyone ever wanted to kill her—or make her love them—all they had to do was show up at her door with a plate of Alfredo pasta. 

 

“Many times. And I love you even more.” Nana kissed the top of Anya’s head, then served herself a plate and sat back down. 

 

Anya ate like an animal who hadn’t eaten in weeks—which, to be honest, was fairly accurate: she was a poor college student after all. She finished her bowl and was about to get seconds when the phone rang. 

 

Nana jumped to get it, rushing to the phone with an agility an eighty-five year old should not have. Anya watched with concern as she refilled her bowl. 

 

“Yes, this is Maria Romanoff. Okay. Yes, I can come in tomorrow. Nine-thirty? Alright. Goodnight.” She hung up, turning to Anya. “Do you mind taking me to a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning? If you can’t, it’s alright, I can ask someone—“

 

“That’s perfectly fine,” Anya said, smiling at her Nana, a strange wave of relief crashing over her that it wasn’t someone she knew calling the phone—specifically, Professor Vaganov. Which was absurd, as he had no idea where he lived, or any of her personal information. 

 

Christ, today’s events were starting to fuck with her head. She pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. “I’m gonna work on some homework,” she said, standing and stretching. 

 

“Alright. Let me know if you need help.” Maria grabbed Anya’s plate and dumped the pasta into a bowl to save for tomorrow. It hurt Anya’s heart to see a woman once practically royalty, swimming in riches, suddenly having to scrounge for every penny and eat leftovers every meal. 

 

“I’m okay, thank you. Just lots of essays.” 

 

Nana clucked her tongue in sympathy, and Anya headed to her room. She grabbed her laptop from her desk and flopped back onto her bed. Once Hozier’s deep, crooning voice was singing to her from the speakers and all her research tabs were open, Anya pulled out her list and got to work.

 

In order to get her grade up in Vaganov’s class, she had to redo three essays, each worth a hundred points, as well as several quizzes and homework assignments. She started on the oldest essay, a thousand-word paper on “your favorite historical character we’ve discussed so far.”  _ Bullshit.  _ Anya groaned and rubbed her eyes. On the class website, it showed she had ‘accidentally’ turned in a math homework sheet, and Vaganov had given her a zero with the note:  _ “Statistics are fascinating, but not at all what we are discussing in this class. Please show more respect to the faculty of this university, although I don’t believe you gave Professor Francoise a thousand-word paper by accident.”  _

 

Jesus, he sounded pretentious even in writing. He wanted respect, Anya would show him fucking respect. She glanced at the rubric for the assignment and grinned mischievously. 

 

Several hours later, Anya had a well-structured paper on the life and experiences of Josephine Baker, filled with as many feminist and sociological critiques as she could throw in. Vaganov did not seem the type to enjoy passionate arguments on the empowerment of women, so Anya wrote two-thousand fucking words on it, and shouted a battle cry when she finally clicked the submit button. 

 

“Anya? Everything alright?” Maria called, and Anya heard soft footsteps heading to her room. 

 

“Oh, yeah sorry everything’s fine. I just finished a two-thousand word paper and I’m feeling proud of myself.” She blushed, scratching the back of her neck. 

 

Maria eased the door open and stepped in, smiling. “That’s wonderful, Anya. Can I read it?” 

 

Anya blushed harder. “Um…” 

 

“It’s fine, I don’t have to. It just seems like a pretty powerful paper, for you to be shouting to the rooftops once it’s submitted.” 

 

Anya shrugged bashfully. “I just hope my professor feels that way.” She stretched, glancing down at her phone. Seven o’ clock? Holy shit, she had been working on this paper for five hours straight! 

 

“I’m sure it’s quite easy to see your potential,” Maria smiled. “I made hot chocolate, would you like some?” 

 

“Yes!” Anya exclaimed, beaming. Her Nana left, and Anya put on some Lana Del Rey as she took a well-earned break. She scrolled through Instagram until Nana brought her hot chocolate and more cookies, and then they sat on her bed and talked about Dima’s boyfriend and Anya’s photography class and all the little things that were so much easier to bring up than the heavy weight on her chest. She hadn’t wanted to search Vaganov on social media, afraid of what seeing some gorgeous selfies would do to her fragile mental state, so she distracted herself by showing her Nana funny cat videos. They both laughed until they cried, shaking the bed until Sladkiy came to investigate, fluffy tale a flag pole in the chilly air.

 

The three of them snuggled together on Anya’s bed, her Nana picked some classical opera music for Anya to listen to while she tackled a simple homework assignment, and her life… it was _okay_. It was going to be okay. 


	2. sugar sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the sake of this fic we're pretending the french health care system works the same as the american one, so any european readers please don't get mad at me :))
> 
> for more information on how the french healthcare system actually works : https://internationalliving.com/countries/france/health/

Gleb Vaganov sat in his office, chuckling as he re-read the essay Anya had submitted yesterday, clearly with the intention of enraging him. It was full of gems like, “men never appreciate the seemingly invisible hard work women must do to be accepted as human,” or, “Josephine Baker was a feminist icon of her time who kicked ass, took names, and didn’t take shit from any asshole professors.” 

 

He gave her an A. The paper itself was well-written, free of grammatical errors and spelling mishaps that his senior students often committed. And she wrote an extra thousand words! The girl had so much potential; she could truly be amazing if she put her mind to it. 

 

There was a harsh knock at his door.

 

“Come in,” he called, not looking up from his computer.

 

“Miss Romanoff is here,” his secretary said, stepping inside his office. Lily was a cheerful, voluptuous woman in her mid-fifties, and the wink she gave him once he gestured for Anya to enter was nothing but innocent.

 

He rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to his laptop.

 

“Professor?” a soft voice called that he knew too well. He looked up to see Lily closing the door behind Anya, and his heart jumped to his throat. She was wearing ripped jeans—brave, in this weather—and a light blue hoodie that brought out her brilliant eyes. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a casual departure from her usual crown braid, and it looked like she had swiped on some gloss that made her full lips shine.

 

Gleb cleared his throat and smiled in a way he hoped was non-threatening and masked the lust in his eyes. 

 

“So, Miss Romanoff. Decided grades were more important than messing around?” 

 

“I believe the proper term is fucking around,” Anya retorted, flopping into the chair across his desk and pulling her backpack into her lap. 

 

Gleb sighed and handed Anya a few pieces of paper, stapled together. 

 

“What is this?” she demanded, looking from his glinting eyes to the bright red “A” on the top of the page. 

 

“Your essay on Josephine Baker. I quite enjoyed it.” 

 

Anya’s mouth fell open. “I… I don’t--” 

 

“There were a few weak points in paragraph two that could be strengthened, and I suspect you used Wikipedia for some of your facts--Baker married Jean Lion in 1936, not John Tigre. But overall, brilliant use of words and wonderful social commentary.”

 

Anya’s face flushed pink, and she started to get out of her chair before thinking better of it and slouching back down. “I thought you’d hate it,” she muttered, head in her hands. 

 

“Do you really think me some asshole, racist woman-hater because I won’t tolerate your rude and unprofessional behavior in my classroom?” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. 

 

“I…” Anya started to nod before catching herself, that familiar contempt replacing the vulnerability in her eyes. “What am I doing here?” she demanded, lifting her head to glare at Vaganov. “If you brought me here to make fun of me, then I’ll be on my way.” She stood, clutching her backpack to her chest. 

 

Gleb stood too, shaking his head. “Miss Romanoff, please sit. I’m sorry if I have offended you. Let’s go over the material for the quiz tomorrow, hm?” 

 

Anya pursed her lips and stared at him for a long moment, then sat back down with a sigh. She pulled a notebook and pen from her backpack and thumped them on his desk. 

 

He suppressed a smirk and started asking questions about French cultural figures of the early twentieth century. She answered most of them with ease, checking her notebook for reference, and Gleb realized something he had been suspicious about for weeks: Anya knew the coursework, knew the answers to everything, it seemed she simply enjoyed getting a rise out of Gleb by not doing her homework. He faltered on a question, mispronouncing a famous comedian’s name, and Anya coughed out a laugh. 

 

“I thought you were the expert on this shit,” she said.

 

Gleb pulled out a notebook and scribbled something down, ignoring her. 

 

She stared at him for a long moment before curiosity got the better of her and she leaned forward, trying to read what he was writing. “What is that?”

 

“I’m making a list for every time you swear in my presence, I just haven’t decided if I’ll distract the tally from your grade or punish you some other way.” he glanced up from under his dark brows to see Anya literally squirming in her seat.

 

“Shit--I mean, fu-- _ damnit!”  _ She cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “Why does this matter to you? None of the other professors care if I cuss! Hell, most of them do themselves!”

 

“And that was one, two, three more marks against you, Miss Romanoff. Shall we get back to studying?”

 

“You  _ bastard!”  _ Anya exclaimed, standing and shoving her chair back. “I’ve had it, and I hate you! I’m sorry that we ever met--I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I don’t--”

 

“Look at that, it’s already one thirty! We’re done for the day, An--Miss Romanoff.” Gleb stuttered over her name, standing as well and picking up her backpack. “Come to lunch with me?” 

 

“I-I have work,” Anya stammered, chest heaving from her outbreak. She grabbed her backpack from Vaganov’s hands and practically ran out of his office.

 

“Wait!” he called, but she was already gone. He sat back down behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. The little Romanoff would be the death of him. He looked over his desk, searching for his little box of mints, when his eyes caught on the notebook Anya had left. Without registering his actions, he grabbed the notebook and started to leaf through it. 

 

***   
  
Anya scowled at herself in the Cafe bathroom, having stopped to wash her face before her shift. Now her hoodie was all wet, and her cheeks were still bright red. Jesus  _ Christ _ , she had never had such a horrible teacher! _Horrible and very, very beautiful,_ her traitorous mind said, the image of Vaganov smirking at her over steepled fingers, or watching her from under dark brows heating her empty stomach. How the  _ hell  _ was she supposed to stop swearing around him? She always cursed more when she was angry, frustrated, or aroused, and she felt all three around him. She sighed and left the bathroom, reapplying her lip gloss to attain a semblance of pose. 

 

At least the hour with him had passed quickly, she thought as she stepped behind the Cafe counter. She was worried he would just sit and stare at her for an hour, until she couldn’t take the tension and launched herself at him, begging the professor to take her then and there. 

 

_ That’s enough,  _ Anya told herself. She clipped on her nametag and plastered a smile on her face. Six hours of making shitty coffee and dealing with obnoxious college students would be draining, but at least she wouldn’t be thinking inappropriate thoughts about a certain professor.

 

***

 

“How’d your appointment go?” Anya called, closing the apartment door behind her and pulling off her jacket and scarf. She walked into the living room, frowning at the silence. Usually her Nana was playing Parisian jazz, or singing to herself, but tonight the apartment was dark and empty. She turned into the kitchen, freezing at what she saw.

 

Maria was sitting at the table, staring at the opposite wall. There were tears rolling down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. 

 

“Nana!” Anya exclaimed, dropping her backpack and rushing to her grandmother’s side. “Nana, what’s wrong?”

 

“I got the results,” she said, sniffing and handing Anya a piece of paper. The blonde took it robotically, eyes scanning the cold words. 

 

“No,” she breathed, paper fluttering out of her hands. “They must be wrong, I don’t--”

 

“It’s true, Anya. The cancer came back. And there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

 

“No!” Anya protested, louder this time. She picked up the paper and read through it again. “It says here with hospitalization and chemotherapy, the cancer has a very high chance of going away permanently!”

 

“That’s for citizens of France, zaika,” Maria said quietly. 

 

Anya stared at her, confused. “What do you mean? Aren’t you a citizen?”

 

Maria laughed humorlessly. “Russia is, and always will be, my homeland. Besides, even if I was a citizen, my priority is putting you through college. We won’t be able to afford university if I go to the hospital.”

 

Anya’s head spun; she sat down in the chair across from her grandmother but nausea still rose in her throat. “My priority is keeping you  _ alive,”  _ she said.

 

“Anya.” Maria grabbed her granddaughter’s hands with her own. Anya flinched, her hands were  _ freezing _ .

 

“Jesus, we need to turn up the heat in here,” she said, starting to stand, but Maria squeezed her hands. 

 

“Please, zaika, listen to me. I am very old, there is no reason for me to spend thousands of e uros on treatment when I’m going to die soon anyway. Your education is much more important.” 

 

Anya shook her head furiously, tears shining in her eyes. “You’re all I have  _ left,”  _ she cried, voice cracking. “I  _ can’t  _ lose you too.” 

 

She pulled her hands out of Nana’s grasp and picked up her phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Maria demanded.

 

“Calling the doctor. I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow.” 

 

“No, Anya--” Maria shook her head, trying to pull the paper away from her. 

 

“You’ve sacrificed everything for me. Now it’s my turn. Call the flower shop and let them know you’ll be on sick leave for a while, alright?” 

 

Maria sighed. “You’re as stubborn as your mother.”

 

Anya froze. Her grandmother  _ never  _ mentioned her parents, so she sat silent, hoping for more information. But Maria just stood slowly, joints cracking, and pressed a kiss to Anya’s forehead. “Is this really what you want?” She asked.

 

“More than anything in the world,” Anya said immediately.

 

“All right. We’ll have to leave early tomorrow if you want to drop me off before your first class.” Anya nodded enthusiastically, tears slipping from her shining eyes. “Of course! Thank you Nana.” she stood, wrapping her grandmother in a tight hug. “I love you,” she whispered, holding the last remaining member of her family as tightly as she could. 

 

“I love you too. Good night, Anya.” She smiled weakly, then walked out of the kitchen, tears staining her cheeks yet walking as calm and regal as a queen.

 

“Good night,” she called after Maria. She dialed the number and prayed she was making the right choice. 

 

***

 

The next morning, Anya woke up at five--well,  _ woke up _ wasn’t really the correct phrase, she’d barely been able to sleep at all-- and padded into the kitchen, following the scent of coffee and crepes. 

 

“I thought I’d make something special for our last meal together,” Maria said curtly, barely returning the hug Anya gave her as she stood by the stove, watching the pan as the batter cooked. 

 

“Oh, Nana, don’t say that,” Anya replied, mouth curving sadly. 

 

“I’m sorry, Anya. Don’t listen to this old woman. Want some crepes?”

 

“Yes, please!” Anya made coffee for Maria and herself, the first black with a splash of cream, the latter half cream with a packet of hot chocolate for a homemade mocha. 

 

They ate in silence, neither of them bothering to turn on the TV for the local news or weather, Anya too distraught to think of anything but the fact that this likely was the last normal breakfast she’d have with her grandmother. 

 

As soon as they finished breakfast, the two women were out the door and squished into Anya’s smart fortwo. A small suitcased sat at Maria's feet, packed with things she was was unable to part with, like a music box Anya had made for her in the same style of the one she gave Anya when they first met. The drive was quiet; the only sounds coming from Maria’s occasional wry comments and the rain pattering against the windowshields. 

 

Letting Nana go was hard, and even though Anya knew she would come see her that night, once they hugged goodbye she just couldn’t let go. 

 

“You have a class, zaika,” Maria murmured, stepping out of Anya’s tight grasp. Anya groaned and rubbed her cheeks, smearing mascara and tears across her face. 

 

“See you tonight,” Anya croaked, clenching her jaw and digging her nails into her palms to get the tears to stop. They didn’t, and Anya kissed her grandmother’s cheek and ran out of the hospital, into the pouring rain. 

 

***

 

“Anya! Hey, how did the tutoring lesson go yesterday?”

 

Dimitry fell in step with Anya, holding his umbrella over her already soaked head. She bit her lip and ground out, “Fine.” They were walking up the steps to the Humanities building, where European History was held.

 

Suddenly, a warm hand grabbed Anya’s arm and stopped her. “What’s wrong?” her best friend demanded, hazel eyes scanning her face and taking in the red eyes, dark circles, and tearful expression. 

 

Anya lost it. The tears she’d been trying to hold in and push away for so long streamed down her face, her nose running and lips wobbling as she tried to stutter an explanation. 

 

“Your  _ grandma?   _ Oh, Anya.” Dimitry pulled Anya into a tight hug, and she melted into his arms, sobbing. He rested his chin atop her head and glared at any students and faculty who have them curious looks, and eventually they were standing alone in the rain. 

 

“You wanna go to the bathroom and clean up?” Dimitry asked, once Anya had stopped bawling into the front of his coat. She nodded. 

 

“What time is it?” 

 

He checked his watch. “Already ten past,” he said. “Wanna just ditch and go to the library?” 

 

“No, I can’t miss anymore. I have to pass this class.” Anya rubbed at her eyes and smiled weakly at Dimitry. “Come in with me?” 

 

“Of course.” 

 

He waited as she blew her nose in the bathroom, and then they walked into Vaganov’s classroom. Like a movie, all the seated students turned to watch as they walked in and made their way to the back. 

 

“Miss Romanoff, Mr. Petrov, how kind of you to join us only fifteen minutes late!” Vaganov called, turning from the blackboard to raise an eyebrow at the two of them. “Care to explain why—“ he broke off abruptly as he took in Anya’s bedraggled appearance: she was soaked to the skin, her eyes and nose were red, and there was raw pain in her eyes he had never seen before. “You alright, Miss Romanoff?” 

 

Dimitry places a hand protectively on his friend’s shoulder, opening his mouth to answer for her, but she beat him to it. 

 

“Fine,” she snapped, the hurt in her eyes so swiftly masked by contempt Gleb wasn’t sure if it had ever been there. 

 

“Glad to here it,” he said smoothly, highly aware that the rest of his students were watching their interaction curiously. “Take your seats, please.” 

 

The rest of the class passed without incident—at least until they started talking about the Russian Revolution. Gleb was explaining how the assassination of the royal family in 1917 was a necessary tragedy, an evil act far outweighed by the harm royalty had committed against the common people. 

 

“Alright, time for the quiz. Can I have a volunteer to pass them out?” 

 

Anya raised her hand, and he smiled at her, grateful she seemed to be feeling better. “Thank you, Miss Romanoff, please come up here.” 

 

“Actually, I had a question about what you were saying earlier,” Anya said. She didn’t even look at him, just kept her eyes fixed on the blackboard. 

 

“Ask away,” he said, and she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. 

 

“So you believe the assassination of the Romanov family was a necessary evil? Justice at the hands of guards, sworn to protect them?” Anya stood, hands balled into fists and rage in her bright eyes. “How fucking ridiculous is that?”

 

Some of the students gasped, Dimitry whispered something to her, but she ignored them all. “If you think the brutal murder of children is acceptable “for the good of society,” what do you think of Stalin? Of Hitler? Christ, you’re probably a fucking Nazi.”

 

That was too far. Anya froze, fear mingling with the hatred in her eyes. 

 

“Miss Romanoff,  _ a word,”  _ Gleb growled, gesturing to the door. “The rest of you, pass out the quizzes and start. Now!” 

 

Everyone stopped staring and started moving, and Anya quickly made her way to the door, flinching under his burning gaze. He followed her out of the classroom, shutting the door, and then they whirled on each other. 

 

“What the  _ hell _ —“

 

“I’m sick of this fucking fascism—“

 

They both shouted at the same time, Gleb coming the closest he’d ever gotten to swearing at a student. 

“I’m not a fascist! Communism and Hitler’s ideals are entirely different! And if you want to discuss my beliefs, we can sit down and do it outside the classroom, but I do not appreciate you calling me a Nazi in front of my students!” Gleb was nearly shouting, and he clenched his jaw and turned away from her, angrily running a hand through his short dark hair. 

 

“I don’t give a fuck what your beliefs are. I’m just stating my opinion,” Anya replied venomously, but her voice cracked on her last word, and Gleb turned to see tears shimmering in her eyes. 

 

“Anya, what’s wrong?” He asked, voice instantly softening. It was the first time he called her Anya, but if he was lucky, it wouldn’t be the last. 

 

She glared up at him through her tears. “I’m fine,” she repeated, although she looked nothing like it. 

 

Gleb shook his head and laughed softly. “Have you heard that “fine” is an acronym for Messed up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional?” 

 

Anya laughed, looking up at him with a bewildered look on her face. “You do realize that spells  _ mine _ , right?” 

 

“Yes,” Gleb said, cheeks reddening. “I don’t like swearing.” 

 

“I noticed,” Anya said drily, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. 

 

“In your case, I may make an exception,” he replied, winking at her. Christ, what was he doing? He ignored his inner monologue—which was chanting  _ kiss kiss kiss _ — and smiled at her. “Ready to go back in and ace this quiz?” 

 

Anya took a deep breath and blew it out through her lips. “As I’ll ever be,” she said, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. 

 

_ God, she’s a messing princess,  _ he thought, opening the door for her. She nodded in thanks and floated through, ignoring the stares. 

 

“I hope you’ve all started,” Gleb stated, grabbing a quiz off of his desk and handing it to Anya. He watched her walk to her seat and have a brief conversation with Dimitry, then realized he was staring and walked to the blackboard. “You have ten minutes to complete the quiz. Good luck.” 

 

Once everyone had turned in their quizzes, Gleb lectured on critical events in France in the 20th century, but found he could barely focus and let his students go early. Anya practically ran out of class, so Gleb settled for calling to Dimitry. 

 

“Is Miss Romanoff alright?” 

 

Dimitry turned to face him, scratching the back of his neck. “She had to take her grandmother to the hospital today to start chemotherapy. So, she’s really not alright. Just… be kind to her, all right? I’m not sure what’s going on between you two, but she’s in a very fragile place right now and she doesn’t need you antagonizing her.” 

 

Gleb nodded, sighing heavily. “Thank you for telling me. And honestly, I’m not sure what’s between us either. All I know is she’s very important to me, and I don’t want her to be in any pain.” Gleb stopped himself there, knowing he’d get himself in even more trouble if he accidentally admitted exactly how he felt about Anya. But being worried about a student was normal, right? Christ, after meeting Anya he had no idea what was normal and what was crossing the line.

 

Dimitry nodded as if he expected as much. “This isn’t going to be easy for her. And with her financial situation…” he shrugged. “We just have to love on her right now. Um, I’m going to meet her for lunch, so…” he saluted awkwardly and started walking away. 

 

“Thanks, Mr. Petrov!” Gleb called after him. Dimitry smiled over his shoulder, and suddenly Gleb was alone in his classroom, feeling even more conflicted than he had before class. What was he getting himself into? 

 

***

 

“How the hell am I supposed to get through two more classes and then work?” Anya groaned, stabbing at the salad Dimitry bought her. “I just want to get back to the hospital and check on Nana.” 

 

Dimitry sat across from her inside one of the many little Cafe’s strewn across campus. He looked past Anya to the rain-streaked window. “If you can persevere for as long as the rain, you’ll be fine!” 

 

Anya laughed, so loudly several students turned from their lunch to stare at her. 

 

“Was it that funny?” Dimitry asked, wondering if he should drop modeling and college to become a comedian.

 

“You’re always funny,” she smiled, but there was a sadness in it that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. She finished her salad with a frown.

 

“Do you want me to come with you to the hospital tonight?” Dimitry blurted out, anxious for his best friend to feel loved and cared for. 

 

“I mean, if you don’t mind,” Anya said quietly, the hope in her eyes breaking his heart. 

 

“I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, Romanoff,” he said just as quietly, squeezing her hand. 

 

***

 

Anya usually loved Social Psychology--the professor was clever and passionate about her topic, and loved whenever Anya spoke up in class-- but today she just couldn’t get into it. She watched tiredly as students bullshitted answers about the nuances of mob mentality, and bullshitted her own answer when Muller came up to after class to ask if anything was wrong. 

 

“You’re usually very active in class, is everything okay?”

 

“I’m fine, just tired today,” Anya said with a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

 

“Alright. Well, let me know if you ever need anything,” she replied, but Anya was already out the door. 

 

The blonde barely had time to eat a granola bar on the way to her next class, but at least it was her favorite: Photography II. Today, silence and focus were the priorities as the students had to use some kind of photo-editor to create the emotion  _ pain  _ for their audience. Anya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the professor gave them the prompt. She pulled out her laptop, ignoring everyone around her, and got to work. 

 

“Tres belle, Anya! You have a truly powerful piece here. I’m very proud of you.” The professor smiled at her, and Anya shrugged. 

 

“It’s not done. But thanks.”

 

She clicked  _ save  _ and closed her laptop, knowing she would never finish the piece, and left the classroom.

 

The image of the girl burning to death underwater stuck with her all through work, and she was grateful her manager noticed her dark mood and sent her outside to clean the Cafe’s windows. 

 

***

 

Gleb sat on a bench in front of the printer shop on campus, flipping through the notebook Anya had left in his classroom. It was full of sketches and taped-in polaroids of beautiful shots, from a fluffy white cat to Dimitry’s wide grin to a self-portrait of Anya-- in nothing but a lacey nightgown. Gleb slammed the notebook shut, heat rising to his cheeks, and looked up to see the very girl always haunting his thoughts. Anya was scrubbing the windows of the Cafe, the little coffee shop/bakery that tried in vain to compete with Starbucks, but in Gleb’s opinion if  _ she  _ worked there it was a million times better than the immensely overrated chain. He was trying to decide how best to approach her when a car backfired halfway down the street, making him jump slightly. 

 

It  _ terrified  _ Anya. She was on her knees, hands clapped to her ears and eyes shut tight in dismay.  _ “No!”  _ She cried, huddled over herself, and before Gleb could take in the whole scene he was striding across the road, tucking the notebook into his jacket pocket and kneeling beside her. 

 

“Anya, everything’s alright. It was a truck backfiring, that’s all,” he murmured soothingly, large hand stroking her back. She gaped up at him, fear fading from her eyes as she realized who was kneeling beside her. 

 

“You’re shaking,” he realized, feeling her tremble through the thin shirt she wore. “Come inside, I’ll buy you a cup of tea.” He helped her stand, and she clutched the rag and window-cleaner to her chest and laughed humorlessly. 

 

“You sound like my grandmother. If only tea could fix everything,” she said, voice cracking. “Thank you, I’m--”

 

“Fine?” Gleb interrupted, smiling wryly. “What kind of professor would I be if I walked away with you in this state?” 

 

“A fucking decent one,” Anya muttered. 

 

Gleb snorted and led her inside. He spoke to her manager as she sat down at a table, and was back a moment later with two cups of mint tea. 

 

“You shouldn’t be working in this cold without a coat,” he said, handing her a mug and frowning as Anya’s cold fingers brushed his. 

 

“I left mine at home,” she lied, wrapping her slender hands around her mug. In reality, she had given it to a freshman she'd found crying in the bathroom, bruises on her arms. She blinked to dispel the memories and studied Vaganov across the table, turquoise eyes smudged with mascara and boring into coffee-dark irises. 

 

“So, your friend said your grandma was just admitted to the hospital,” Gleb said softly, watching Anya’s face for any tell-tale flickers of emotion. But even someone who barely knew the girl couldn’t have missed the hurt and frustration that stormed over her face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

Anya shook her head and gulped down some still-scalding tea. “There’s nothing you can do, unless you’d like to pay for my college,” she joked. She glanced back to her professor’s face and frowned at the contemplative look in his eyes.

 

“That was a  _ joke.  _ I don’t need help from anyone, least of all you.” She stood, picked up her tea and headed back to the counter.

 

Gleb moved in front of her, holding out his hands. “Everyone needs help at some point, Anya.” 

 

Anya scoffed and walked past him. “Thank you for the tea,” she called over her shoulder. But Gleb wasn’t done yet. He watched as she walked into the back room, emerging a few minutes later with her hair pulled up into an endearing messy bun and a dark blue apron tied in a bow over her clothes. She smiled up at her next customer, but her pink lips instantly fell into a scowl as she realized it was him. 

 

“Don’t you have classes to teach?” she demanded, hands on her hips. 

 

“I’m actually done for the day. Just had to pick up some paperwork from the print shop when I realized you left this in my office yesterday.” 

 

He pulled the small, worn notebook out of his coat pocket and slid it across the counter. Anya’s eyes widened, and she snatched the book and leafed through it quickly, as if to make sure he hadn’t destroyed any of the pictures. She blushed as she came across the polaroid Dima had taken of her in a white nightgown and snapped it shut, but one quick glance at his face told her he had already seen it. She grumbled a few of her favorite curses under her breath. “Do you actually want to buy something? Or are you just going to antagonize me all day?”

 

“Yes, I’ll have a brie and salami baguette sandwich, toasted. And I wanted to give you this, it looks like it’ll rain outside and I don’t want you getting sick.” 

 

Anya stared at him as he shrugged off his dark, heavy wool coat and handed it to her. She took it and used all of her self-control to not smell it. She always wondered what attractive people smelled like--

 

“Okay, one baguette sandwich? Is that all?” 

 

Vaganov nodded and dropped a twenty euro note in the tip jar, then walked over to the pick-up counter, sipping his tea. 

 

“Thank you!” Anya called an awkward heartbeat later. He saluted her with his mug, and she blushed and hurried to heat up his sandwich. 

 

“Have a nice day,” Anya smiled mechanically, handing Vaganov his sandwich, encased in the nicest paper bag she could find. “If you come by tomorrow, I can give you the jacket back.” 

 

Gleb took the bag, and she tried not to stare at the way the button-down shirt and suspenders he was wearing contoured his biceps and wide shoulders. 

 

“That won’t be necessary, I have hundreds of them,” he smiled. “Keep it until the weather lets up.”

 

“This is Paris, the weather never lets up,” Anya replied.

 

“Well, keep it forever then. Until next time, Miss Romanoff.” He nodded to her and turned to go, but she couldn't keep from calling after him. 

 

"Professor! Wait." 

 

Gleb turned back to her, brow raised. "Yes, Miss Romanoff?"

 

"Um." Anya looked down. "I'm sorry for calling you a--a Nazi," she said, scratching the back of her neck. She omitted the "fucking" but still felt like she had said a horrible swear word under his penetrating gaze. 

 

"Don't worry about it," he smiled. "As long as you don't think I'm a Hitler sympathizer, I will be quite content." 

 

_Not after today,_ she realized. She looked up to shake her head at him, but he was gone, the Cafe suddenly silent and cold without his warm presence. Anya immediately grabbed his coat and smelled the inside--call her a freak, she  _ had  _ to know what he smelled like. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily: woodsmoke and musk and the slightest hint of fresh lavender. The bell on the Cafe door chimed, and her eyes snapped open and she ran back to the storage room to toss Vaganov’s coat with her stuff. 

 

“Hi!” she said brightly to none other than Vaganov’s secretary, Lily. 

 

“Hi Anya, how are you doing?” Lily smiled brightly and leaned against the counter, mischief sparkling in her eyes. 

 

“Um, I’m fine. What can I get you?” Anya asked, clearing her throat. 

 

“I’ll have the biggest, sweetest hot coffee you have, and a croissant,” Lily beamed. 

 

“Coming right up,” Anya replied, wondering how much Lily suspected about the relationship between her boss and Anya. Lily paid, and a minute later Anya handed the woman a huge caffe mocha and a paper bag. “Enjoy your night,” the blonde smiled mechanically. 

 

“You too, dear,” Lily replied, taking a seat at the table Anya and Vaganov had occupied less than an hour earlier. Anya shivered at the choice and glanced at her phone. It was seven o’ clock, which meant she had an hour until Dimitry came by for their usual Wednesday night chat and another hour before they could leave for the hospital. She sighed and glanced around the nearly empty coffee shop, almost wishing it was a Starbucks just so she could have more customers. She headed to the back to talk for her manager for a bit, she gave Anya a list of things to do and by the time the doorbell announced Dima’s prompt arrival, she was bored out of her mind. 

 

“Just clean the tables, and then you can clock out,” Diane told her, taking over the register. 

 

“Thanks, Di.” Anya grabbed the antibacterial wipes and wiped down all the tables (except the one Lily was still sitting at--Jesus, how long was the woman going to sit there for?) then started stacking chairs.

 

“Hey,” a soft voice said, a gentle hand touching her shoulder. She melted into her best friend’s arms, and he hugged her for a long time.

 

“I got you a hot chocolate,” Dima said once she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. She accepted the mug with a grin and led him to a table.    


 

“What is it with all these beautiful men buying me drinks at my own store?” she demanded, half-joking. 

Dimitry’s eyebrows raised. “What did I miss?” he questioned, leaning forward. 

 

Anya told him how Vaganov had showed up earlier, from witnessing her breakdown at the truck backfiring to buying her tea to tipping twenty euros. 

 

“Holy shit. He’s  _ so  _ into you!” He exclaimed, laughing loudly. 

 

“Shh!” Anya hissed at him, glancing around the Cafe. 

 

“What? Nobody’s here,” Dimitry said, but he still lowered his voice. 

 

“Diane is in the back and Lily-- _ who is Vaganov’s secretary _ \--is right there!”

 

He glanced over to where Lily was sitting, sipping her big-ass mocha with earbuds in and a book in front of her. 

 

 

“Girl, she is so into whatever the hell she’s doing you could strip right here and she wouldn’t notice.” 

 

“Dima!”

 

“No, seriously! Anya wants to fuck her teacher!” He sang, wiggling his eyebrows at Lily’s back. The woman didn’t move an inch. 

 

“See? She’s practically sleeping.” 

 

“Christ,” Anya groaned. She took a sip of hot chocolate and glared at Dimitry, then pulled out her phone. “Can you help me with something?” 

 

“ Anything! Especially if it’s getting you and Professor Hottie together,” he grinned mischievously.

 

“Oh my God,” Anya huffed, rolling her eyes. “I can do that myself. I want your help setting up a sugar baby account.” 

 

Dimitry choked on his coffee. “You want to--what?” He spluttered, gaping at her. 

 

“Yeah, I found a website called “Gimme That Sugar” or something, and you set up a profile and message potential sugar daddies, and they message you. I can use the extra income.” 

 

Dimitry closed his mouth, opened it, and then closed it again. “Christ, I mean, if it’s what you want,” he said, eyes still wide. 

 

Anya nodded intently. She had been thinking about it since this morning, and had solidified a plan. “I’m not going to sleep with anyone for money, if that’s what your thinking,” she said. “Really, all you have to do is go on dates and hang out with old men every once in a while. If it can help me pay for Nana, I’ll do it.”

 

Dimitry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. What do you have to do?”

 

Half an hour later, Lily and Diane had left, the latter handing Anya the keys and charging her with locking up once she and Dima had finished. The two students had fleshed out a profile for three sites in total, and taken what felt like ages to find the right profile pictures. At almost ten, they had locked up and walked across campus to Anya’s car. 

 

“I hope you only get messages from the non-sketchy ones,” Dimitry said, once they were buckled into Anya’s ancient smart car and on the way to the hospital. 

 

“They were all sketchy,” Anya sighed. She hadn’t expected that becoming a sugar baby would be  _ easy,  _ but the first site charged all these extra fees to sugar babies if they wanted to see who was asking them out, and the other two warned that it could be months before a sugar baby got a date. Anya couldn’t afford either option. She just had to hope her polaroids and fun profile would be enough for some old man to be willing to deposit a hundred euros to her checking account every now and then. 

 

The ride to the hospital was quiet after that, the two of them too wrapped up in their own thoughts for idle chit chat. Once Anya pulled into the parking lot, she was practically trembling. Dima held her hand as they walked inside and asked to see Maria Romanoff. 

 

“Nana!” Anya cried once they had found her room, the sterilized white so at odds with Maria's vibrant personality.

 

“My zaika,” Maria said, and Anya shuddered at the weakness of her voice. 

 

“Are they treating you right?” Anya demanded, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

 

“Yes, my darling.” She looked up to see Dimitry watching with concern. “Dima! Please stay with Anya while I’m here. She frets too much.”

 

Anya rolled her eyes. “I don’t  _ fret.  _ It’s called anxiety, a third of the population has it.” 

 

“I will, Maria,” Dimitry responded, pressing a warm hand to Anya’s shoulder. 

 

A young woman in a nurse’s uniform walked in, frowning. “Visiting hours are over, monsier et madame. Please—“ 

 

“Give us a second,” Anya growled, a fire in her eyes like Dima had never seen before. 

 

The nurse pursed her lips and grabbed her pager, presumably to call security.

 

“Anya, it’s okay, we can come back first thing tomorrow.” He squeezed her shoulder and then strolled to the nurse.

 

“Hey, we’re really sorry to be any bother,” Dima murmured in perfect French, smiling that sheepish smile that worked on practically every straight woman and gay man Anya knew.

 

Anya tuned him out as he calmly explained he circumstance, how Anya might have to sacrifice her education to keep her grandmother alive, and by the end of it the nurse was practically in tears and promised they could have an extra ten minutes.

 

Anya laid next to her grandmother, holding her hand and telling her about her day—well, apart from Vagonov and becoming a sugar baby. Maria was concerned about Anya’s health and urged her to leave, to go to sleep and stop worrying, but Anya refused until the frowning nurse came by and asked them to leave. (Much more politely this time)

 

Anya pressed a kiss to her grandmother’s forehead and left, frustratedly wiping at her eyes. Dima snagged a tissue from a nurse station and handed it to her wordlessly. 

 

“You really turned on the charm back there,” she said, trying to smile. It probably looked like a grimace, but Dima didn’t mind. 

 

“She gave me her number. How do I nicely tell her I’m gay?” He sighed, hand intertwined with Anya’s as they walked out of the hospital and into the gloomy night. 

 

“God, being an attractive young man is  _ so  _ hard,” Anya grinned, pushing Dimitry’s shoulder. He pushed her back. 

 

While the sadness and terror inside Anya threatened to consume her, being with Dima… helped. She didn’t think she could laugh at this time, but with him she could. Friendship saved her life once before, she realized as they drove home, Dima belting to foolish love songs on the radio. Friendship would save it again. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but describing derek klena's eye color is actually so hard ?? u look up pictures of him and it fucking changes D:
> 
> leave a comment and i'll give you a beautiful word :)


	3. in vino, veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the date we've all been waiting for :))
> 
> this chapter somehow ended up being an extra five thousand words long (yikes yes i do have a life i promise its called fanfic) so u beautiful people basically get two chapters at once ! enjoy *blows kiss*

 

“Fuck,” Anya growled, rubbing her side through Vaganov’s thick coat. She felt strange wearing it, enveloped by his scent and warmth. 

 

“You alright?”

 

Anya looked up and froze as she met her  _ favorite  _ professor’s eyes. “Um, yeah, I’m fine. What can I get you?”

 

Vaganov smiled and set another twenty euro bill into the top jar. “How much do I have to order for you to tell me what’s wrong?”

 

Anya laughed joylessly. “The whole goddamn Cafe.”

 

Gleb nodded, thankfully ignoring her use of “goddamn.”

 

“I have a staff meeting later and no one’s ordered catering, so I might as well treat everyone.”

 

He opened his wallet and started counting hundreds.

 

“Holy shit. I—I was joking,” Anya stammered, eyes wide as she stared at the money in his hands. Just a few hundred alone would help her pay for groceries and this month’s rent—which she couldn’t pay with Nana in the hospital.

 

“And I’m dead serious. Get me the first catering package, will you?”

 

Anya entered the two-hundred dollar package into the register, fingers trembling slightly.

 

“And two hot chocolates and a brie sandwich.”

 

Anya nodded, punched the order in and then looked up at Gleb expectantly.

 

“That isn’t the whole store,” she said, arching a brow.

 

“Looks like I’ll have to come back next time.” He smiled and moved aside for the next customer.

 

Anya called Diane in from the back to help her with Vaganov’s long-ass order.

 

“Go help him take it to his office or wherever. He won’t be able to carry it by himself.”

 

Anya swallowed nervously as she wrapped Vaganov’s sandwich.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Diane raised a thin brow. “It’s literally six heavy bags. And you’re the only one I can send with him; Jeremy has to handle the other orders.”

 

Anya nodded. “Yes ma’am,” she said sweetly, excitement and fear running through her veins as she realized she’d be walking across campus—alone—with her gorgeous teacher. 

 

Ten minutes later, Anya had packed six heavy-duty bags full of several gallons of coffee, multiple sandwiches and pastries, and a few fresh baguettes. 

 

“I’ll help you carry all this,” she said, looking at Vaganov’s lips so she didn’t have to look into his eyes. A mistake, as her irritatingly horny mind wondered what those full lips would feel like all over her body.

 

“Thank you, Miss Romanoff,” Gleb said, distracting her from the overtly sexual images her mind was screaming at her. She picked up one bag and stared as Vaganov casually grabbed the other five. 

“You really don’t have to call me that. We aren’t even in the classroom.” They walked out together, Anya trying not to stare at the way his biceps flexed under his shirt.

 

“Yes, but I like to maintain a professional relationship with all my students.”  _ And calling you that reminds me you aren’t available for any other kind of relationship. _

 

“Understandable,” she replied. She wondered what his name was. Probably something hot, like James or Alexander.

 

_ “ _ What’s wrong with your ribs?” Vaganov asked suddenly.

 

“What? Nothing,” Anya said quickly, lifting her hand from where it had been pressing on her ribs to scratch her nose.

 

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They walked in companionable silence until they had nearly reached Vaganov’s office building.

 

“My coat looks good on you.”

 

Anya grinned as she looked at herself in a passing window. “I know.”

 

He laughed, shaking his head and turning his face to hide a smile.

 

“I’ll see you next week, Miss Romanoff.”

 

“Don’t you want me to carry these bags up for you?”

 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” He took the bag she held and nodded curtly.

 

“You’re--you’re welcome!” Anya called after him, watching the way his shoulders flexed under his tight shirt.

 

_ Shit.  _ She was so fucked. 

 

***

 

“Anya? Hello, earth to Anya?” 

 

Someone tapped her forehead, and Anya jerked back and blinked up at Dimitry. 

 

“Sorry, I was thinking,” she said, gaze turning back to her camera. “Can you do this pose again?” 

 

“Our sexy professor on your mind?” he grinned, leaning back on Anya’s bed. 

 

“He isn’t sexy,” Anya retorted, blushing. Because Vaganov was sexy as  _ fuck.  _

 

“Whatever you say. God, I’d tap that. But he’s a little too domineering for me. He’s probably  _ so  _ frisky in the sheets.” Dima groaned and stretched, Anya snapping pictures all the while. “What was the saying? Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips—”

 

“Dima!” Anya threw the closest object she could find at her best friend—which happened to be a textbook. 

 

“Hey! I ain’t getting paid for this!” 

 

“You should be paying  _ me _ ,” she retorted. “Now look over there.” 

 

She gestured to the air above her head, and Dimitry huffed but did as he was told, slightly opening his mouth and leaning towards the camera, one hand coming up to touch his chin. 

 

“Beautiful,” she grinned. “I think we got it.” 

 

Dimitry whooped and jumped off the bed. “Got anything to eat? I’m  _ starving.”  _

 

Anya pursed her lips. Between a second visit to Maria earlier today and shooting Dimitry, she had shoved away all thought of food. The idea of  _ eating,  _ sitting down at her kitchen table without her grandmother, was appalling. 

 

Dimitry strolled to the kitchen, oblivious to Anya’s depressing thoughts.

 

“God, you know what I’m craving right now?  _ Thai.  _ Thai sounds amazing right now.” 

 

He opened the fridge and froze. “Anya, where’s your food?” 

 

She strode up behind him and shut the fridge, but the damage had already been done. “None of your business.” 

 

He rounded on her, brows rising to his hairline. “Is this why you haven’t been eating lunch with me lately? Anya, you  _ know  _ I’d share with you—” 

 

“I don’t need your help!” She interrupted, cheeks reddening. God, not being able to buy her own groceries was humiliating enough, but to have her best friend find out and reprimand her for it? She wanted to crawl into her empty fridge and die. 

 

“That settles it. We’re going out for Thai food and shopping!” 

 

“Dima,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes. “It’s already nine.” 

 

He checked his phone. “Change of plans. We’ll go shopping first and then get McDonalds or something. They’re open late, right?” 

 

She shrugged mullishly, crossing her arms. He touched her shoulder, eyes softening. “Hey. I’m just trying to take care of my best friend, alright? You know you’d do the same for me. With a lot more yelling and swearing.” 

 

She laughed at that, shaking her head. She knew it was true—God, if she found out Dima was starving himself because he literally had no money for food—

 

“Okay, fine. But I  _ will  _ pay you back.” 

 

So that was how they ended up at a dirty booth in downtown Paris, Anya slurping at a milkshake and Dimitry on his third burger. 

 

Her car was packed to the brim with groceries; Dima having bought luxuries they couldn’t afford before: fancy French cookies, some kind of wine that wasn’t two buck chuck, and cookie dough ice cream, her favorite. 

 

Anya’s phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of her pocket and screamed. 

 

“What? Is Maria okay?” Dimitry demanded, jumping out of his seat and rushing to her side. 

 

“No—I got a message from the sugar daddy thing!” she squealed, showing him the text. 

 

“Anya—you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Join me for dinner this Saturday at  _ Pierre’s?”  _ Dima read aloud, looking at her with wide eyes. 

 

“That restaurant is like, the most expensive in Paris!” 

 

“I know!” she shrieked. A worker cleaning tables shot them a glare and she lowered her voice. “What do I do? What do I  _ say?” _

 

“Um… Thank you for the compliment,  _ Pierre’s  _ sounds great? Ask him what time?” Dima shrugged. “What’s his name?” 

 

Anya bit her lip and opened the app. “Gleb V. God, he’s probably a creepy old man,” she groaned. 

 

“Hey, you don’t have to do this. And Gleb sounds like a great name,” Dima said, trying to hold in a laugh. 

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “The only pictures are a dog and some guy’s back facing a mountain.” 

 

“Hipster. Maybe he just created the account?” 

 

“He’s probably been on it for years and has a bunch of human hearts in his freezer,” Anya sighed. 

 

He raised an eyebrow. “If you want me to come, I will.” 

 

Anya quickly shook her head. “How would that look to have my best friend chaperoning me to a date? It’s okay, Dima. I’ll just text you when we’re done.”

 

“Can I at least drop you off?”

 

Anya met his worried stare and smiled. “Of course. Now help me write this goddamn text.”

 

***

 

Friday passed quickly for Anya—her classes and work were a blur with the only thought in her head being that she had a date with a potential sugar daddy the next night. 

 

In between work and classes she visited the hospital. 

 

“So, I have a date tomorrow night,” Anya said, sitting on the edge of her grandmother’s hospital bed. 

 

Maria smiled up at her, eyes brightening like the flowers Anya had brought. (Sunflowers, which now sat in a little pink vase next to Maria’s bed.) 

 

“Who is it? Is he from school?” 

 

Anya shrugged non-committedly. “Yeah.” 

 

It was hard to lie to her grandmother—it always had been. But this was for their benefit, Anya told herself. 

 

And Maria would throw a fit if she knew Anya was looking for a sugar daddy. 

 

“How’s Dima?” her grandmother asked, distracting her from her reverie. 

 

“He’s good. Vlad’s in London right now, so he misses him. But he’s been keeping me company, distracting me from…” Anya trailed off with a shrug.  _ Everything.  _

 

“That’s good,” Maria said, frail hand patting Anya’s knee. 

 

They talked for a while longer about Anya’s classes and Maria’s red hat society and that one nurse who always gave her extra fruit cups—even when the doctor said she should limit her sugar. 

 

Maria’s hair was starting to fall out, and she may have cried a little when Anya presented her a red beanie she had made—Vlad had taught her to knit, and while the end result was soft and pretty, she had nearly stabbed Dimitry with her knitting needles several times in the process.

 

“Sorry madame, visiting hours are almost over,” a nurse murmured, coming up behind Anya to check Maria’s vitals. She was much kinder after Dima had smiled at her that one time, but not kind enough in Anya’s book. (What was wrong with her sleeping on the edge of her grandma’s bed? She was all Anya had, and she  _ hated  _ sleeping in her empty apartment.

 

So she left, pressing multiple kisses to her Nana’s forehead. 

 

“I’ll come by on Sunday, alright?” 

 

***

 

**Anya:** HOLY SHIT TODAYS THE DAY 

**Anya:** SDKJHFSFJFJHFD

 

**Dimitry:** girl u got this! Everything will be fine and if not u can cancel

**Dimitry:** just say ur sick! We can hang instead

 

**Anya:** no its fine im just lowkey freaking out

 

**Dimitry:** why are you texting me anyways?? I’m in ur kitchen

 

**Anya:** bitch wat ???

 

A few seconds later there was a knock at her bedroom door. 

 

“Dima?” 

 

He walked in, hands on his hips. “What are you doing in bed? It already ten and you need to get ready!”

 

Anya groaned and snuggled closer to her pillow, tossing her phone on the nightstand. 

 

He tutted and grabbed her blankets. “Come on! We gotta go dress shopping!”

 

She bolted upright, blonde hair sticking up all directions and eyes furious. 

 

“No! You can’t keep buying me things,” she cried, standing up and striding to him. 

 

“Honey, that’s the definition of a sugar daddy relationship. How come some strange old man can buy you shit but  _ I  _ can’t buy my best friend a dress for a date?” 

 

He crossed his arms, looking down at her imperiously, but she could see the tinge of hurt in his eyes. 

 

She hugged him, hands gently rubbing his back. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be ungrateful. It’s just… weird.” she pulled back slightly, silver-blue eyes meeting hazel. 

 

“Understatement of the year,” he grinned, ruffling her hair with a large hand. She batted his hand away, expression quickly going sour. 

 

“You aren’t getting any of my world-famous omelette!” she taunted, racing into the kitchen. 

 

He ran after her, socks skidding on the tile floor, and yanked open the fridge door. “Not if I make them first!”

 

***

  
  


Two disasters of an omelette later (which involved Anya throwing a yolk at Dimitry’s face) the pair had scoured the local mall for a suitable dress. Anya had initially wanted to wear the red number Maria had given her last Christmas, but Dimitry immediately shut that option down. 

 

“Anya, you know I love you, but you can  _ tell  _ your grandma bought you that dress. You got nice legs. Let’s show ‘em off!” 

 

Anya had ended up torn between a black bodycon dress with gold details and a velvet burgundy piece. 

 

“I like them both,” she groaned, fingering the velvet material with one hand while gazing longingly at the black dress.

 

“I’ll get both then!” Dima cried, sweeping the dresses into his shopping cart and ignoring her squawk of protest. 

 

They shared a chocolate malt from the food court and sat at the cleanest table they could find. 

 

“I bet she’s running from the cops after killing her third husband,” Dima said, nodding at a woman in her forties who was talking animatedly into her phone, faux nails sparkling as she gestured and black heels clicking on the cool floor. 

 

“No, the cops are running from her,” Anya answered, taking a sip of the shake and studying the expensive handbag, the sway of the woman’s hips as she walked. “She’s an assassin, talking to her next client. He wants her to seduce and then murder the head of the Paris police department.” 

 

“Well, seeing as the police chief is a straight married woman, she’s got her task cut out for her,” Dima grinned. 

 

Anya smiled down at the table. This was one of the games they played; people-watching and creating crazy stories for the pedestrians they saw. Dima had initiated the game the first time they met, at a rainy train station many years ago. God, how they’d changed since then.

 

“Alright, time to go! I’d never thought I’d say this, but I get to dress up my best friend as a sugar baby.” His lips quirked and he shook his head. “Nope. Never saying that again.”

 

Anya huffed out a laugh and stood, offering him the rest of the malt. She didn’t know what she would do without this man: he always noticed when her thoughts went dark, always sacrificed everything to make sure she was okay.

 

“Let’s go,” she smiled. She checked her phone and swore under her breath. Time had passed far more quickly than she expected; malls always seemed to swallow the minutes faster than she could enjoy them. 

 

“We still got a few hours! And you’ll look like a princess when I’m through with you.”

 

***

 

Anya stood in front of her closet mirror and stared in front of her reflection. She  _ never  _ put that much effort into how she looked, so to appear all fancy now… she really did feel like a princess. 

 

Dima had curled her hair and gone with a half-up, half down style, giving her a stunning yet youthful air. He had shown her how to line her lips with a gorgeous red color he’d bought for her at the mall, and applied lots of glitter and shadow to her eyelids. The effect, with the velvet burgundy dress?  _ Beautiful.  _

 

He helped her into a pair of black heels (“Still not as tall as me, Romanoff,” he teased) and smiled softly. “My Anya’s all grown up now,” he sighed.

 

“I’m three months older than you, jerk,” she said, punching his shoulder. 

 

“Ow! Abuse!”

 

She rolled her eyes. “What time is it?”

  
  
“Time for your chauffeur to escort you to the royal palace, your majesty,” he said with a bow.

 

She tossed her phone into her black clutch and ran to the door. “We have to go! The website says to be early and we’re barely going to make it on time!”

 

“Okay, okay, just let me take a picture.” he pulled out his phone and Anya glared at him for a moment before yanking the door open and rushing to the elevator. 

 

She tapped her foot impatiently the whole time, arms crossed. 

 

Dimitry grabbed her arm to keep her from bolting across the parking garage. “You’re going to fall and break your neck!” 

 

She glared up and him and he smiled and squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be fine. You can always call me and pretend like I’m your sick brother, alright?”

 

Anya laughed hollowly. “Sick brother” was something the pair had come up with years ago: if either of them were in an awkward situation, they’d text those two words and the other would immediately call pretending to be a sick sibling. 

 

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary.” 

 

They reached his car and Anya made to open the passenger door, but he pushed her hand aside and opened it for her. “Your majesty’s carriage awaits,” he said, a stupid grin on his face.

 

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbled, although a small part of her  _ loved  _ being treated like a queen. 

 

“It’s why you love me,” he beamed. 

 

Anya fidgeted the whole ride, but it didn’t feel  _ real  _ until Dima parked in front of the valet booth and looked over to her. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“No,” she groaned. But she got out of the car and blew him a kiss. 

 

“Text me!” he called after her. He watched as she smiled at the valet and walked into the restaurant like a princess, clutch in one hand and ready to face the world. 

 

***

 

Anya walked into the restaurant, trying to keep a serene mask on--but inside she was shaking. What was she thinking? A very large part of her wanted to run out and chase after Dima’s car; go home and make hot chocolate and watch stupid rom-coms. 

 

But she wasn’t here for her. She was here for Nana, for Dima. she didn’t need her grandmother’s concern or her best friend’s pity. She could make it on her own, and if that meant accepting money from lewd old men, well, she’d been through worse. 

 

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and strode to the front desk, where two women with heavy Parisian accents were chatting idly.

 

They turned when Anya cleared her throat awkwardly and smiled at her. “Welcome to Pierre’s. Do you have a reservation?” the one on the left asked, thick braids elegantly twisted on top of her head and eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. 

 

“Y-yes,” Anya replied, fidgeting with her clutch. “For Gleb, I think?”

 

The other woman studied the tablet in front of her, and Anya admired the freckles scattered across her cheeks like stars. 

 

“Found you! Two for Gleb Vaganov at seven?”

 

Anya nodded, although her stomach dropped at the name. Was it—

 

No, she told herself firmly, as she followed the freckled waitress further into the restaurant. There was no way in  _ hell  _ that she was going on a date with her  _ professor _ .

 

“Here you are. A server will be with you shortly; enjoy your meal,” the woman smiled. Anya looked to the man sitting at the table and froze. 

 

 _Holy fucking fuck_ —

 

“Anya?” Professor Vaganov exclaimed, looking up from his menu.

 

She took in the way his dark brows furrowed, the burgundy (holy shit) dress shirt he wore, the sleeves rolled up to show his muscular forearms and _was that a tattoo_ —

 

“You name is  _ Gleb?”  _ she cried, eyebrows raising so high they threatened to blend with her hairline. 

 

“Yes. Remember it now, you’ll be screaming it later,” he said with that god-awful smirk that made her want to slap him and kiss him simultaneously. 

 

“What the fuck,” she said, but the longer she stared at him the more confused she got. “Did you plan this?” She asked accusingly, walking up to him and putting a hand on her hip. “Oh, I’ll just seduce my student and then pretend to be a sugar daddy so I can legally fuck her—” 

 

“Sit down,” Vaganov hissed, that anger she loved to spark flaring in his dark eyes. “Or do I have to spank you like the disobedient child you are?” 

 

Her mouth fell open and she quickly shut it and sat in the seat opposite him, cheeks flaming. 

 

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” A voice asked. Anya looked up to see a waiter smiling at them and thanked every god she could think of that she didn’t have to reply to Vaganov’s words, or think about the way they set her core on fire. 

 

And he noticed, by the way his eyes never left hers as he ordered some fancy wine she can’t pronounce. 

 

“And for you, madame?” 

 

Anya met Vaganov’s gaze and smiled. “A bottle of your most expensive wine, please.” 

 

The waiter scurried off, and Anya folded her hands in her lap and studied Vaganov (she can’t think of him as Gleb, not yet.)

 

“So? You never answered my question from earlier.” 

 

Vaganov leaned back in his chair and sighed. Anya noticed he had a diamond stud in his left earlobe and immediately looked away. How much hotter could this man get?

 

“No, Miss Romanoff, I did not plan this.”

 

“I think we’re past titles, Gleb,” she smirked. 

 

He held up a hand, chastising her. All she could think about was how thick his fingers looked, how good they’d feel stroking her—

 

“Anyway,” he continued, and her eyes snapped back to his, “Lily told me to come here at seven and meet somebody from the university for a date. I didn’t know it would be a student. And I didn’t know it would be  _ you.” _

 

“Oh.” Anya bit her lip, brow furrowing. “How did she— _oh.”_ Lily had been sitting at a nearby table at the Cafe while she and Dima had set up her sugar baby accounts. “That clever woman,” she groaned, head in her hands.

 

“So I was talking to Lily on the sugar daddy site?” she asked, more to herself than him. But he sat up straight, leaning towards her. 

 

“What site?” 

 

“Shit. Nothing,” she said quickly, looking away from his piercing gaze. 

 

“Two things, Anya,” he said, leaning his tattooed forearm on the table. “One,  _ language.  _ We’re at a five-star restaurant in Paris where dinner for a party of four costs more than your tuition. Two,  _ what site.”  _

 

His dark gaze shot straight to her core, and she swallowed and pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache building there. It didn’t work. 

 

“Some sugar daddy dating site called “Gimme That Sugar”,” she mumbled, cheeks flushing scarlet.

 

“You came here to meet a sugar daddy?” he asked incredulously. Now her earlier outburst made sense, as well as her actions from earlier… 

 

Anya saw the wheels turning in Vaganov— _Gleb’s_ beautiful head and shook her head, curls bouncing. “Nope. No fucking way am I having _you_ as my sugar daddy.” 

 

Gleb shrugged. “I won’t make you do anything. We don’t have to go on dates unless you’d like to. I can mail you checks, or deposit—”

 

“Nonono. Can we just, talk about something else? Please?” Anya begged. She had to get over the fact that her professor’s secretary had set them up on a sugar daddy/baby date before she could even consider  _ actually dating _ her professor.

 

“Of course. What do you like to talk about, Anya?”

 

She shrugged. “Photography, movies, food—” She broke off as he lifted his left arm to scratch his stubble, gaze catching on the spirals of his tattoo. 

 

“What does it mean?” 

 

“Oh, this?” he smiled and looked down at his arm. “It means that I’m cooler than you.” 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

 

“Your drinks, monsieur and madame.” The waiter appeared with two bottles and set them on the table, then poured Anya’s glass with one and Gleb’s with the other. 

 

“Are you ready to order?” 

 

Anya looked between the waiter and Gleb, eyes wide. She hadn’t even looked at the menu, she’d been so enraptured by Vaganov’s eyes. 

 

He smiled at her. “I’ll take the ratatouille with steak. What do you like, Anya?” 

 

“Um… pizza,” she shrugged awkwardly, saying the first thing that came to her head. She felt her cheeks redden and looked to Gleb, eyes pleading.  _ Please don’t make me look like even more of an idiot,  _ her eyes seemed to beg. He nodded minutely. 

 

“Yeah, can we get the goat cheese and honey flat bread?”

 

The waiter nodded and scribbled on his notepad. “Would you like the cheese platter as well? I do believe that’s a favorite of yours,” he smiled.

 

Vaganov laughed—he actually  _ laughed,  _ and Anya found she desperately wanted him to make the sound again. “Absolutely. And can we get a baguette, too?”

 

“Of course, monsieur Vaganov. I’ll let Pierre know you’re here.” 

 

Gleb thanked him and turned back to Anya, flashing a smile.

 

“You come here often?” she asked.

 

“Oh yeah, I bring all my sugar babies here.”

 

She snorted.  _ I hope not,  _ she almost muttered. 

 

“Me and the owner, Pierre, grew up together. Our families are very close. But he moved to France when we were teenagers. I followed him, but not until I finished college in Russia.”

 

Anya nodded, transfixed. “I know what it’s like to grow up somewhere else. Paris seems to be home for a lot of orphans.” 

 

She bit her tongue, suddenly afraid she’d offended him. But she knew her gut instincts were right when he nodded, resting his chin on his hand. 

 

“My father died when I was young. My mother was killed later. She walked home from work during a protest of the new regime and was shot.”

 

Anya stared at him and took a sip of her wine, not sure what else to say. She nearly choked.

 

“What is this?” she exclaimed, scowling at the glass in her hand. 

 

Vaganov was laughing at her, shaking his head. “Very expensive alcohol. You don’t like it?”

 

“No,” she grimaced. 

 

“Try mine.” he handed her his glass and she took it, fingers brushing. 

 

“Holy shit that’s good. I mean holy… oh fuck it, I’ll take the consequences.” 

 

She drained his glass and gestured at the bottle. He poured her another, smirking. 

 

“I’m sorry about your parents,” she said quietly, swirling the dark liquid in her glass and watching it splash against the sides.

 

“I know. And I’m sorry about yours. It can’t have been easy, moving to another continent without knowing anyone. You’re strong, Anya.”

 

She stared at him, heart dropping out of her chest. “How did you know that?” she whispered. 

 

“The way you said Paris is a home for orphans. How you live with your grandmother, the way you’d sacrifice your education for her hospital bills. And your accent—still American, although you hide it well.”

 

“Looks like you’ve got me all figured out,” Anya said drily. She took another sip of wine, relishing the taste of the smooth liquid against her tongue. Like strawberry candy—fuck it, this was the nectar of the gods. 

 

“Hey, slow down. I don’t want you blacking on our first date.”

 

“What if that’s what I want?” she replied, studying a curl of blonde hair that fell out of her updo. 

 

“I hope I’m not that terrible of a date,” he smirked. He poured himself some of Anya’s wine and frowned, licking his lips. Anya squirmed in her seat, the image of Vaganov swiping at his full bottom lip with his tongue forever ingrained in her mind. “Yeah, this is shit.”

  
  


She giggled. Okay, so the wine was starting to get to her. So what? It wasn’t like she was going to go crazy and try to get in his pants. 

 

She blushed at the image and set her glass down. 

 

“You alright?”

 

Anya looked up at Vaganov’s concerned expression and nodded quickly. “Just thinking.” 

 

And then the waiter arrived with their dinner, so she was spared from the embarrassment of him asking what exactly she was thinking about.

 

Anya’s eyes grew wide as a huge flatbread was placed in front of her. The table barely had room for everything Vaganov ordered: a mammoth bowl of soup, a steak the size of his face, a plate full of various cheeses, and then a baguette nestled between their wine bottles. 

 

“Gleb Vaganov!” A voice cried, and Anya looked up to see a middle-aged man striding towards them, grinning. “I haven’t seen you in ages, brother! How are you?” 

 

Vaganov stood and hugged the man in the strange way straight men hug each other: lots of pounding each other’s spines out and slapping shoulders. 

 

Anya watched as they talked in rapid French, then turned her attention to her food. She had just taken a bite of her flatbread—it was fucking  _ amazing,  _ goat cheese crumbles and honey dripping all over her fingers—when Vaganov’s friend turned to her. 

 

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” 

 

Gleb was flustered for the first time that evening. “Um, this is my, ah—”  _potential sugar baby? girlfriend? student?_

 

“I’m Anya,” she interrupted, swallowing her bite and wiping her hands on her napkin. She held  out her hand to shake. 

 

“Pleasure meeting you, Anya,” the man smiled, giving her a firm handshake. “I’m Pierre.”

 

She glanced at Vaganov, who nodded smugly. 

 

“Nice to meet you too. The food is amazing,” she gushed. 

 

He smiled broadly. “Glad to hear it, ma chere! I’ll let you two enjoy your meal,” he said. He clapped Gleb on the back and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

 

Anya smirked to herself and took another bite of gooey goodness. She chased it down with more wine, feeling lighter by the second. 

 

Vaganov started on his food, and Anya stared openly at the way his powerful shoulders shifted as he cut his steak. 

 

“How do you eat all this and stay so fit?” she demanded, eyes jumping from the feast before them to his incredibly toned body. “I mean—” she flushed from her neck to her ears and looked down at her plate. 

 

“Thanks, princess,” he grinned. “My goal with keeping my body healthy is just to stay balanced. Most days I eat healthy, proteins and veggies and all that. And I exercise every day. But there are days I take a break and let myself enjoy life, like with this steak.” 

 

Anya just stared at him, not comprehending a word he’d said after  _ princess.  _ “For your information, I am a queen,” she said imperiously. 

 

“Oh no, you aren’t a queen yet. Try the cheese, it’s delicious.” he gestured to the cheese platter with his knife.

 

“We’ll see about that,” she pouted. But the moment the soft cheese and toasted baguette hit her tongue, she was in heaven. 

 

“This is  _ amazing _ ,” she moaned, closing her eyes and savoring the flavors. 

 

“Told you, princess.” 

 

“Call me that again, asshole,” she snapped, eyes flying open. (deep down, she loved the nickname. But she didn’t want Vaganov knowing he got under her skin so easily)

 

_ “Princess,”  _ he growled, the word rumbling in his chest, eyes going dark. 

 

She may have squeaked—just a tiny bit.

 

“So, um, is there dessert?” she asked, glancing around the restaurant in order to avoid his laughing eyes.

 

“Maybe. If you behave.” 

 

This time she definitely squeaked. She grabbed her glass and drained it, then stood abruptly. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced, and stalked off. 

 

“Bathroom’s that way,” he called after her. She turned and walked the other way, making a face at him. He winked at her. 

 

Anya locked herself in a stall and leaned against the door, staring at the toilet. What the hell was she doing here? With Gleb Vaganov _ ,  _ her _ college professor.  _

 

She was on a date with her professor. The idea really hit her, and she groaned and rubbed her eyes, then remembered she had a shit-ton of makeup on. She muttered curses and walked out of the stall, studying herself in the mirror. 

 

She still looked stunning—her face was a little flushed, her hair was in place, her lipstick was barely smeared, and her eyes sparkled with the glitter and mascara—but inside she was a falling apart. 

 

“Meet the royal mess,” she sighed, pulling her phone out of her clutch. There were several texts from Dimitry, ranging from “how’s it going sugar face?” to “answer me now bitch or i’m coming over with a knife.” she laughed and texted him back, saying that she was fine and would probably be going home with her date. 

 

Wait. Had she just texted that? She stared at her phone screen and realized she  _ wanted  _ that, wanted to go home with Vaganov and take action on the desires coursing through her every time she saw him. 

 

She put her phone back in her clutch and nodded at her reflection. “You got this, queen. Now go kill a man. Or fuck him.” she giggled and walked out, struggling a little with the heels. Hey, she  _ never  _ wore heels. It was a miracle she was in them at all, but Dima had said they gave a lot of confidence, and look at where she was now! About to sleep with her college professor. 

 

She walked back to their table, lips curling up when she noticed how Vaganov watched her body. Then she noticed his empty plate and stared at him. 

 

“Someone was hungry,” she teased, taking another bite of her flat bread and washing it down with his  _ delicious  _ wine. 

 

“I’ve got an appetite,” he shrugged, licking his lips again and then smirking, knowing she was staring transfixed at the curve of his lips.

 

God, this man would be the death of her. She gobbled up her flat bread, trying to distract herself so she didn’t instantly jump his bones. Subtlety was key when it came to new relationships. 

 

Twenty minutes later, she leaned back in her chair, holding her stomach and groaning. “I’m so full.”

 

“Me too.” he wiped his hands on his napkin and then ran a hand through his hair, smiling at Anya. “Well, this was really nice. We should do it again sometime.” 

 

He signed the check and handed it back to the waiter, then picked up the box of leftovers and handed it to her. “Take it home,” he said, soft smile lifting his lips. 

 

“Okay,” she grinned. She stood—a little shakily—and grabbed her clutch, then drained her glass and reached for the bottle.

 

“Woah, easy there princess. You driving home tonight?” he grabbed her hand and she  _ whined,  _ trying to pull away but he was too strong. 

 

“I’m going home with you,” she said slowly, as if it was obvious. She tried to grab the bottle and stumbled, crashing into his chest. He grabbed her, saying something sharply, but she just nestled into his chest and closed her eyes. 

 

***  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Gleb groaned, catching the girl before she collapsed on the floor. He set the half-empty bottle on the table—had she really drunk all of it? And guided her out of the restaurant, smiling awkwardly at the staff. God, now he looked like the asshole who got younger women drunk and then took them home for vile purposes. 

 

He guided Anya out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, then tried to gently push her away. She just whined again, high in her throat, and snuggled closer, shivering. 

 

Shit, it was cold outside, and all she had was a flimsy dress. He tried not to stare at the way goosebumps formed on her shoulders as he walked to the valet desk and smiled at the well-dressed man. 

 

A few minutes later, Gleb secured Anya in the passenger seat and turned up the heat and seat warmers. She woke up, blinking at him. 

 

“What’s your address? I’ll take you home,” he said, pulling out of the restaurant parking lot. 

 

Anya quickly shook her head, staring at him with wide eyes. “No, please don’t take me home. I don’t want to be in my apartment all by myself,” she cried, and when Gleb looked over he was shocked to actually see tears sliding down her perfect cheeks.

 

“Okay, okay, we’ll go to my place,” he amended.

 

A bright smile lit up her face, and Gleb tried not to think about how he just couldn’t say no to the beautiful blonde beside him-- not when she looked at him with those big blue puppy dog eyes.

 

Ten minutes later, they had arrived at Gleb’s apartment complex, and Anya had fallen asleep again. He took off his seatbelt and touched her shoulder, gently. She jumped and jerked away from him, then realized who he was and smiled. 

 

“We there yet?” 

 

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. She clapped her hands excitedly and scrabbled at the door handle. “It’s locked, sorry.” he turned off the ignition and stepped out, then walked over to her side and opened the door, holding out his hand.

 

She grabbed it—and now he _knew_ she was drunk, because Sober Anya would have taken one look at his hand, said something sassy and shoved it away. He locked the car and then they walked into his building, holding hands all the while. Once they got to the elevator he tried to pull away to press the floor button, but she shook her head and pressed all of them, giggling. 

 

He sighed, and she leaned into him, head resting on his chest. He smiled into her hair. Drunk Anya wasn’t so bad. 

 

***   
  
“C’mon, Glebbie. Take off your pants,” Anya whined, trying to undo his belt and pull off her dress at the same time. 

 

“Anya, no,” he said firmly, shutting the door behind them and flicking on the lights. He barely had time to lock his apartment door behind them before she was all over him, dress abandoned in favor of yanking at the buttons on his shirt. 

 

“Hey!’ he said sharply, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. 

 

“Please,” she begged, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing their bodies flush together. "I _need_ you."

 

“No, we are not doing  _ anything  _ while you’re drunk,” he said sternly, grabbing her wrists and pulling them off his neck. 

 

“Not even kissing? C’mon V, I can make you feel really good,” she smiled, words slurring together. 

 

“I’m sure,” he sighed. He walked her into the living room and then moved to the kitchen, rummaging through his cupboards for a glass of water. 

 

Soft hands wrapped around his waist, one sliding under his shirt to stroke the soft skin across his abdomen, one messing with his belt buckle. "Want you inside me," she breathed. 

 

Gleb snapped. He whirled around, picked Anya up as if she weighed nothing—she practically did, when he could bench press over twice her weight—and carried her to his bedroom. 

 

She squealed, kicking her feet in the air and giggling. 

 

“You won’t take no for an answer? Here’s an answer,” he said gruffly, kicking his bedroom door open and striding inside. He held her with one hand and ripped the blankets off that he so carefully made this morning and dumped her onto the clean sheets. 

 

She gasped as her back hit the soft bed and sat up quickly, trying to take off her dress. But back zippers were too much for Drunk Anya, so she just muttered something foul under her breath and then went for Gleb’s clothes. 

 

This time he was ready for her, and tackled her with a blanket, forcing her hands to her chest and straddling her body. 

 

“No means no, Anya. Don’t do something you'll regret in the morning,” he growled. Their foreheads were nearly touching, and he clenched his jaw at the overwhelming smell of wine on her breath. 

 

He got off her still body and she whimpered, pulling a hand out from the blanket to reach for him. 

 

“Stay,” he ordered, tone authoritative and deadly. “Or you’ll sleep in the parking lot.” 

 

She froze, hand falling to her side, but she still looked at him with those puppy dog eyes. (He would never do such a thing, but Drunk Anya didn’t have to know that.) 

 

“Stay with me?” She begged. 

 

Gleb sighed, jaw clenching as he looked back to the living room, where he had planned to sleep on the couch. 

 

“Please?” Her blue eyes were desperate and pleading. 

 

His self-control cracked and he strode to the bed, crawling onto the other side and pulling the blankets over his legs. He sat against the headboard and looked over to Anya, who blinked owlishly at him. 

 

“No touching,” he ordered. 

 

She pouted. “Not even cuddling?” 

 

God, this woman would be the death of him. 

 

“Okay, we can cuddle a little—“ 

 

Anya threw herself at him, quite effectively interrupting him as she laid on top of him, head against his chest and legs draped over his. 

 

“You’re comfortable,” she murmured into his chest, voice muffled by his shirt. 

 

“So I’ve heard,” he replied wryly. 

 

She didn’t answer, and he glanced down to see she had already fallen asleep. He smiled to himself and brought up a hand to gently stroke her hair. 

 

She clung tighter to him in response, so he took his time carding his hands through her hair, gently pulling out hair ties and bobby pins and setting them on his nightstand. 

 

He sat there for a long time, knowing he should get up and change, grab water for both of them, check his phone—but he couldn’t move, not with the warm weight of the girl he never expected (but always wanted) laying on his chest, snoring softly. 

 

***

 

Anya woke up with a horrific headache, skull throbbing like her brain had gone through a blender. 

 

She groaned and opened her eyes, then quickly shut them. It was way too bright. “Please go away, Mr. Sun,” she mumbled, pulling the blanket over her head. 

 

Why did she smell like alcohol? She took a deep breath and groaned even louder. The date was last night, the whole sugar daddy fiasco wasn’t just a weird hangover dream— 

 

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, ignoring the way her vision blurred and head pounded. “Has she really said those things to  _ Vaganov?”  _ God, she’s tried to have sex with him. What had she _said_ last night, while trying to jump his bones? 

 

She flopped back onto the pillow, the motion making her stomach roll.  _ Shit.  _ She scrambled out of bed and ran to the closest door, praying to every deity she could think of that it was a bathroom. 

 

It was, and she barely made it to the toilet before she started vomiting her guts out. 

 

She retched into the toilet, kneeling on the cold bathroom floor and regretting every choice she’d ever made. 

 

Once the hurling had stopped, she lifted her head and swore viciously. There was vomit on her  _ dress _ . 

 

She stood shakily and fumbled with the zipper, thanking God she hadn’t been able to work it last night. She stripped off her bra and underwear and left them on the floor, then tossed the velvet mess in the sink and spent a solid five minutes trying to turn on the shower. Finally a hot stream poured from the shower head, and she moaned in ecstasy as she stepped inside and pulled the glass sliding door shut, closing her eyes and letting the scalding water wash over her. 

 

She stood in the shower for a good ten minutes, just letting the water cleanse away the alcohol and makeup and bad choices. Eventually, she opened her eyes and studied her shampoo options. 

 

Gleb apparently took his hair care seriously, for there were multiple shampoo and conditioners to choose from, ranging from  _ manly man  _ scents like FIERY OAK and SALT, SWEAT, BLOOD. Well, maybe not that dramatic. But Anya still laughed at how he could have masculine shampoos next to conditioners like  _ fresh ocean breeze  _ and  _ romantic lavender.  _

 

And then she realized she was definitely not the first woman he’d taken home, and her stomach plummeted. She quickly shoved the thought away and picked a shampoo at random, pouring some into her hand and scrubbing her hair harder than she should. 

 

Ten minutes later, she stood in the fogged-up bathroom and realized she didn’t have any other clothes to change into. So she walked back into Gleb’s bedroom and prayed he wasn’t there, wearing nothing but a towel.

 

It was empty, so she breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the towel, then walked into his closet. 

 

Shit, it was huge. She went over to what she hoped was the pajama section and grabbed a t-shirt that looked a bajillion times too big for her. She smelled it, closing her eyes as the same woodsmoke and lavender scent invaded her senses. She pulled it on, then rummaged through a drawer and slipped on a pair of boxers. She used a hair tie on her wrist to tighten them, otherwise they’d fall off her slim hips.

 

Yeah, she was wearing his underwear as she walked back into his bedroom and shivered. She had woken up warm, but now with her legs bare and hair dripping down her neck it was cold as hell. (The ninth circle, to be exact.) 

 

So she grabbed the fluffy throw blanket from his bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then padded into the living room, yawning. 

 

There was soft jazz coming from somewhere, but no sign of Vaganov. She shrugged and looked around, planning on raiding the fridge when her gaze caught on a  _ baby grand  _ piano in the corner of the living room, lit by the sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. 

 

She gasped and ran to it, sitting on the polished bench and reverently raising the lid. 

 

For several heartbeats she just studied the keys, mind flashing back to another time, where another Anya sat at a baby grand and played a lullaby. 

 

She shook her head and placed her fingers on the keys, half to push the memories away and half to bring them back. 

 

She hadn't played in ages, but this song came to her almost supernaturally. She was lost in the melody, the high notes and sharp keys soothing something raw in her soul, when a harmony joined her song, delicate notes blending to create a masterpiece. 

 

She screamed and whirled, nearly tipping the piano bench over, and Gleb pressed a large hand to her back, keeping her seated. 

 

“Sorry I startled you. You play beautifully, why don’t I see you in the music lab on campus?” 

 

She stood, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and shrugging jerkily. 

 

“Too many bad memories. Um, I’m so sorry about last night. About getting drunk and being terrible, then being an asshole before. God, how much did that wine cost? And we didn’t even drink it.” She groaned and dragged her hand down her face, looking down at her bare feet to keep from having to see the judgement and anger in his eyes. “You’re probably regretting ever talking to me. I’m sorry. I’ll just, um, go now.” 

 

She bit her lip and tried to walk past him, wondering how she was going to walk home half-naked. 

 

He grabbed her arm, gently pulling her back. “Stay?” He asked, dark eyes hopeful. “I bought eggs, we can make breakfast.” 

 

Anya looked up at him, bewildered. “You  _ want _ me to stay? After I made a complete fool of myself, and then tried to force myself on you?” 

 

She turned red and looked down, scuffing her feet against the wood floor. 

 

“Hey.” He lifted her chin with his hand, brown eyes soft and inviting as melted chocolate. “It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. I appreciate your apology, Anya. Now don’t beat yourself up about it. Come make breakfast with me?” 

 

He smiled at her, and Anya didn’t understand how there was such  _ kindness  _ in his gaze. For a long time it had just been her and her grandmother against the world, and then Dima had come along (and by extent, Vlad) but before that she had been alone. No one had ever looked at her the way Gleb was now, and she found herself nodding before she could stop herself. 

 

“Sounds good, Glebbie.” She said, not able to keep the laughter from her voice. 

 

“Hey. I  _ will _ make you sleep in the parking lot,” he scowled, nudging her with his shoulder as they walked to the kitchen. 

 

She nudged him back, and breakfast nearly turned into an all-out shoving war, only prevented by Anya glancing at the counter. 

 

“You bought waffle mix?” She shrieked, running to the counter and trying to rip the bag open.

 

“Wait, do it slowly—“ Gleb said, but Anya had already torn the bag open and sent white powder everywhere.

 

He burst out laughing, and she wiped the waffle mix off her face and glared at him. 

 

“Oh it’s on,  _ Glebbie.”  _

 

Fast forward twenty minutes, and Anya was sitting on the counter trying to get waffle powder out of her wet hair with a paper towel. 

 

Gleb was at the stove, making scrambled eggs, and Anya watched him, a peaceful smile on her face. 

 

This was the first time she’d seen him in anything but a suit or fancy dress shirt, and she studied him now, taking in the ways his chest strained against the tight t-shirt he wore, how the gym shorts he wore showcased his muscled calves. 

 

He turned to her, smiling. “Like the view?” 

 

She looked away, but he had already caught her, so what was the point of being coy? 

 

“Yep,” she grinned, hopping off the counter and standing next to him, glancing from the pan he held to his beautiful face. “Is it done yet?” 

 

“Patience, young padawan,” he sighed, tutting and tapping her nose with his spoon. 

 

“Hey—was there yolk on that?” She exclaimed, rubbing at her nose with his blanket. 

 

“Why would you think that? I’m hurt,” he said dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. 

 

Anya scowled at him and crossed her arms. “I’m  _ hungry.  _ I thought this would be ready hours ago!” 

 

“If you want to make yourself useful, you can grab the strawberries out of the fridge and cut them up.” 

 

Anya scampered to the fridge and grabbed her ruby-red prize, grinning. 

 

“What if I just eat all of them?” She asked mischievously. 

 

“Then I’d eat all of the eggs— _ and _ all the waffles.” 

 

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Anya said quickly. She wanted some goddamn eggs and waffles. 

 

Gleb handed her a knife and she smirked wickedly and jumped back onto the counter, setting the strawberry container in her lap and starting to carve. 

 

“So how’s the hangover?” He asked, turning off the stove and transferring the scrambled eggs to a plate. 

 

Anya shrugged, eyes on the strawberry she was slicing. “It’s a lot better.” 

 

She was lying—well, a little bit. In all honesty, she had completely forgotten that she’d been hungover until he’d asked; she’d been having so much fun just hanging out with him. 

 

“I’m glad to hear that. Being hungover sucks.” 

 

She nodded, looking up at him, and gasped, curses spewing from her lips. 

 

Blood was streaming from a slice on her finger, and Gleb turned to see her pursing her lips and holding her now-bloody hand, trying not to make a sound. 

 

_ “Shit.”  _ Gleb grabbed the roll of paper towels and strode over to her, slotting himself in between her legs and grabbing her wrist. 

 

She winced, other hand clenched into a fist, as he pressed a wad of paper towels to the cut, frowning. 

 

“Every time my back is turned you throw yourself into trouble,” he noticed, squeezing her hand. 

 

“That isn’t true,” she protested. “Trouble always finds me!” 

 

“Okay, Hermione,” he said, rolling his eyes. He pulled the paper towels away when they became soggy with blood and pressed new ones to the cut. 

 

“That was Harry, not Hermione,” she noted, in awe at the calm way he pulled the bloody napkins away and pressed new ones against her hand. (Dima would have freaked the hell out.) 

 

“Alright then Potter, you want to explain why you’re bleeding all over my kitchen?” He demanded in an awful British accent. 

 

She groaned and rubbed her forehead with her not-bleeding hand. “You’re terrible.” 

 

“And you still love me,” he replied, smiling. God, she was sitting on the counter and he was  _ still _ taller than her. 

 

“Don’t push your luck, asshole,” she muttered. 

 

“What was that? Cursing, in my kitchen?” 

 

“Maybe,” she smirked, sitting up straight so their foreheads were nearly touching, hyperaware of his hand enveloping hers. 

 

“I still have to decide how I’m going to punish you for these repeat offenses,” he said, devilish grin lifting his lips. 

 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and tried to smirk. It seemed her lips had stopped working. 

 

Gleb lifted the paper towels from her hand and brought it up to his face, studying the cut. It had finally stopped bleeding, but there was dried blood all over her hands and shirt. 

 

He walked over to the sink, the space between her legs suddenly cold, and she quickly closed them, rolling her ankles in idle circles. 

 

He came back with a damp paper towel and started massaging her wrist, brow furrowed in concentration as he wiped away the blood. 

 

Anya bit her lip, incredibly turned on and shocked by the love in his movements. He was so  _ gentle _ with her, big hands tenderly stroking at her wrist, her fingers. 

 

His thumb brushed against the cut and she hissed and pulled her hand back. 

 

“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling apologetically. “Stay here.” 

 

He wadded up the bloody paper towels and tossed them in the trash, then headed into his bedroom. 

 

Anya watched him, and noticed the pillow and blankets arranged on the couch. Shit, had he slept on his couch because of her?

 

Guilt and shame bubbled up inside of her. She glowered at the cut on her finger. She had been a  _ terrible  _ date, from yelling at him to getting wasted at Pierre’s to trying to get in his pants—

 

She groaned and buried her head in her hands, ignoring the twinge of pain from her finger. 

 

“You okay?” 

 

Anya peeked through her fingers to see Gleb standing before her, holding a first aid kit.

 

“Why are you so nice to me,” she mumbled, cheeks heating. God, she felt like a five year old who’d scraped her knee on the playground. (And Gleb was her daddy? Christ, woman,  _ don’t  _ follow that thought.)

 

“What was that?” warm hands took hold of her wrists and gently pried her fingers from her face. 

 

She looked down, chewing on her lower lip. “Why are you so nice to me?” she asked the floor. 

 

***

 

A million answers raced through Gleb’s head, from  _ because you’re beautiful  _ to  _ you deserve it _ and while those were true, something entirely different fell from his lips. 

 

“Because I want to.”  _ I want to give you the world, Anya.  _ but he couldn’t say that—at least, not yet.

 

“Oh.” she looked up at him, a million questions in her eyes. Gleb stepped closer to her, set the first aid kit next to her and held out a Hello Kitty band aid. 

 

“You aren’t putting that on me!” she cried, pulling both hands behind her back. 

 

He just quirked an eyebrow and hopped up on the counter beside her, so close their thighs were flush together. 

 

“Give me your hand, Anya,” he ordered, and  _ fuck  _ she couldn’t say no when he commanded her like that, expression stern and hand held out expectantly. 

 

She placed her hand in his, pupils darkening as she took in how big his hand was; it made her feel even more like a child.

 

He pulled it into his lap and spread her fingers, examining them until he found the cut. He opened the band-aid with his teeth (now  _ that  _ was hot) and wrapped it around her finger. Then he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. 

 

Anya stopped breathing. 

 

He looked up at her and smiled. “Ready for eggs?”

 

She nodded, not trusting her voice. 

 

He slid off the counter and handed her the plate of scrambled eggs and a fork, then grabbed the waffle mix. 

 

She took a bite and moaned, eyes falling shut dramatically. “Holy fu—fudge,” she amended, lips quirking. “This is  _ amazing.” _

 

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, voice suddenly close to her ear. She jumped, and heard him laugh softly. 

 

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said. 

 

She did, biting the inside of her cheek. What was he— _ oh. _

 

Something pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth, humming in appreciation as she tasted a sweet strawberry. 

 

“More?” she asked hopefully, eyes still closed. 

 

He chuckled and flicked her nose. “Greedy. Finish your eggs first.” 

 

She cracked an eye open and saw that he had left her side and was pulling a metal bowl out of a cupboard, his back to her. 

 

She quickly grabbed another strawberry and stuffed it in her mouth, right as he turned around.

 

“So I was thinking— _is that a strawberry in your mouth, Miss Romanoff?”_

 

She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to chew faster but he was already in front of her, palm out. 

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“Whaf?” she mumbled around the fruit, strawberry juice dribbling down her chin. 

 

“You heard me, don’t make me heimlich it out of you,” he warned, holding out his hand. 

 

Anya held his gaze for a long second, defiance warring with a overwhelming desire to please him. (She didn’t want to think about what that meant.) 

 

She lowered her eyes and spat the strawberry into his palm. “Good girl,” he smiled, the steel in his features melting into something she rarely saw—pride? 

 

She turned back to her eggs, and he walked back to the counter, humming cheerfully. There was no way in hell he was getting his boxers back, because she was pretty sure her desire had soaked through them. 

 

Once the waffles were done, Gleb joined her on the counter and they ate in companionable silence. He fed her a few more strawberries, and if she licked his hand more than once he pretended not to notice. 

 

Once Anya had ate all the waffles she could possibly fit into her short frame she laid back on the counter, kicking her feet and crushing a stack of papers Gleb still needed to grade. 

 

“Hey,” he started, but she just closed her eyes and groaned, lifting her shirt— _ his  _ shirt, he realized with a jolt—to scratch at her stomach.

 

He quickly averted his eyes, but wasn’t fast enough to evade a glimpse of  _ his boxers  _ slung low on her thin hips. 

 

Jesus. He didn't know which was worse: assuming she was naked under his t-shirt, or knowing she was wearing his underwear underneath, his scent pressed against her--no. He took a deep breath through his nose and searched his short-circuiting brain for a conversation topic,  _ anything _ \--

 

“Shit, is it Sunday?” Anya asked, leaning up on her elbows. 

 

He nodded. 

 

“ _ Shit!  _ I wanted to go to the hospital today!’ she cried, jumping off the counter and looking ready to bolt out the door. 

  
  
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s only one right now, I can take you to your apartment to get changed and then we can go to the hospital. Does that sound alright?” 

 

He stood in front of her, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathed, looking up at him with those startling ocean eyes that made his heart thunder in his chest. 

 

“Of course. Here, let me get some sweatpants for you. Your dress and underwear are in the wash.”

 

She blushed as he walked into his bedroom, leaving her alone in the kitchen. He had picked up her vomit-covered dress, her dirty underwear? What was she getting herself into? 

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, they pulled up into Anya’s apartment complex and looked at each other, Anya smiling awkwardly and Gleb just studying her, expression unreadable. 

 

“Here we are, princess,” he said after a heartbeat, and their strange spell was broken. Anya unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her clutch. 

 

“Thanks for everything,” she said, opening the door and glancing after him. There was more she wanted to say, words she’d never said before trying to crawl past her lips, but she just clenched her jaw and climbed out. 

 

“Do you want me to come inside?” he called after her, concern evident in his warm brown eyes. 

 

“Oh, no it’s okay, I'll drive myself to the hospital. I don’t want to impose anymore.” She waved at him and then ran off, and Gleb couldn’t take his eyes off of her retreating form. 

 

She looked  _ adorable  _ in his pajama pants and old t-shirt, and a big part of him hoped it won’t be the last time he sees her in his clothes. 

  
_ Stupid,  _ he told himself as he pulled out of the parking lot.  _ She’s your goddamn student.  _ And he doubted she lusted after him as much as he wanted her. (drunk confessions were only drunk confessions, after all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i've been to france several times bc i have family there and man one time i had a goat cheese n honey flatbread like anya in this chapter and its so fuckin good asdfkrh 
> 
> leave a comment & i'll give you a beautiful word !
> 
> come scream at me about ramin's obnoxiously hot bod on tumblr : oscula-sucre 
> 
> xoxo star ❤


	4. sexual healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soo it took me four months to update so have some smut :) if ur not into that , stop reading when gleb n anya start kissing ;) 
> 
> p.s. this is my first time publishing porn so hopefully it isn't terrible :D ya this chapter ended up being nearly ten thousand words but i didn't want to cut the sexy times in half so pls enjoy !
> 
> like ! comment ! subscribe ! (to @oscular_sucre on tumblr :)

 

Anya shut her apartment door and leaned against it, head thumping against the dark wood. How the  _ hell  _ was she supposed to explain everything to her grandmother? To  _ Dima?  _

 

Something rubbed against her leg and yowled, and Anya jumped a foot in the air. 

 

“What the fuck? Oh, Sladkiy. Hey, bud. Sorry I was gone all night.” 

 

He meowed again, narrowing his eyes, and Anya shrugged. “I had a date, okay?”

 

She walked to the fridge and grabbed the last can of cat food. Shit, she’d have to buy more; she’d forgotten when Dimitry bought her groceries. 

 

“Well, if we run out you can eat chicken,” she said, setting the food before him.

 

He dug in, and Anya went to her room, looking for something more appropriate to wear for visiting her dying grandmother in the hospital.

 

She pulled off Gleb’s shirt and boxers and realized she left her favorite bra in his bathroom. “Dammit,” she sighed. 

 

She pulled on jeans and a soft sweater and glanced at herself in the mirror, scowling at what she saw. 

 

Her shower had only smeared her mascara, making her look like a panda. Her hair was a mess, and her mismatched socks showed through a hole in her converse. 

 

“Fuck it,” she muttered. She grabbed her keys and phone and shoved them in her jean pockets, ready to leave when her gaze caught on her grandmother’s cat and an evil grin spread across her face.

 

***   
  


“Dima?” Anya blurted out, frozen at her grandmother’s doorway. 

 

“Hey,” he said, looking up from Maria’s meal tray, where he had been helping her eat.

 

“Zaika!” she cried, beaming at Anya and making her feel even worse for forgetting about their meeting.

 

“Hi Nana. I brought a surprise for you,” Anya smiled, shutting the door behind her and then sitting on Maria’s other side. She pulled the backpack off her shoulders and set it on her lap. 

 

It meowed, and Maria jumped. “What was that?” 

 

Any opened her backpack and a fluffy head poked out, looking indignant. 

 

“Sladkiy! Oh, Anya, you’re going to get in trouble,” she fretted, even as she stroked the cat’s white neck. 

 

Dima and Anya shared a look and burst out laughing, and Anya knew the awkwardness between them was broken. 

 

Maria pulled the white furball out of Anya’s backpack and held him in her lap. 

 

“Now we can watch the Catholic service!” Maria said excitedly. “Dimitry brought his laptop for us; but you should answer your phone so he doesn’t have to,” she chided. 

 

Dimitry shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, but Anya saw the hurt in his eyes. 

 

She immediately pulled out her phone and checked her texts. There were several from Dimitry, as well as a missed call.

 

“You were in the bathroom for such a long time; I figured I’d just meet you here,” he joked, meeting her eyes again.

 

Anya exhaled, feeling like a incredibly shitty granddaughter  _ and  _ friend. Dima had covered for her, with the threat of her grandmother’s anger hanging over his head at keeping her real location secret, and Anya couldn’t even answer her phone.

 

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling too good.” 

 

Maria watched the two of them, and Anya gestured to Dimitry’s laptop, unable to stand the crushing silence. “What did you want to watch?”

 

“Well, I can’t miss Mass just because I’m in the hospital,” she retorted. “Dimitry found something called TubeYou and it has some good sermons on it.”

 

Anya snorted. “It’s called YouTube, Nana.” 

 

“Whatever. Come on, boy, hit it! I’d like to experience God one more time before I die.” 

 

“Hey. No one’s dying here,” Anya said sharply. 

 

Dimitry started the video, and Anya rested her head on Maria’s shoulder and watched as a traditional Roman Catholic service started on the screen. Dimitry had found a Russian one, and Anya’s Russian pretty much only included pet names and swear words, so she had no idea what the priest was saying. 

 

She turned her eyes from the screen to watch her family. Maria watched intently, idly stroking Sladkiy’s coat. 

 

Dima met her eyes and winked. 

 

She winked back, and Maria noticed and slapped her shoulder. 

 

“Pay attention!”

 

Dimitry laughed at her, and Maria slapped him too. “Don’t go corrupting my granddaughter.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Anya’s the one corrupting  _ me!” _

 

So that was how they passed the hour and a half, joking and teasing and causing Maria to pray for their wicked souls.

 

Maria eventually dozed off, snoring like a grizzly bear, and Anya could finally talk to her best friend. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” she said immediately, the next video playing automatically on Dima’s laptop but neither moved to pause it. 

 

“I’ve been a terrible fucking friend, and I should have checked my phone more, but everything just…” she trailed off and threw her hands in the air. 

 

“Wanna explain this?” he asked, holding up his phone. She frowned as she read the text. 

 

**Anya:** hjey imas sleepp w v dontr worry abt mee ;000

 

“I guess I can’t text when I’m drunk,” she groaned.

 

“So did you sleep with him? The crusty old man?” he demanded, leaning forward. 

 

Anya blushed furiously. “Um. I don’t know how to say this.” she took a deep breath. “The crusty old man is Professor Vaganov,” she said quickly, otherwise it would never come out.

 

_ “What?”  _ he shouted, causing Maria to wake up with a jerk. 

 

“What’s going on?” she asked sleepily. Sladkiy glared at Dima and then yawned. 

 

“Um, me and Anya were just going to get coffee from the cafeteria,” Dimitry smiled, charming mask sliding on. Anya nodded, smiling awkwardly and wishing she was as smooth as her best friend. 

 

“Yeah, do you want anything?” she asked.

 

“Just some peace and quiet. Dimitry, put another service on.” 

 

Dimitry immediately complied, changing the video (which had somehow turned into a “funniest cat videos compilation” back to a mass.

 

“We’ll be back,” Anya smiled, this time genuinely. Maria flapped her hand dismissively and the pair left the room, Dimitry shutting the door behind them. 

 

“Vaganov is your sugar daddy?” he whisper-shouted, whirling on Anya. 

 

“He isn’t my anything,” she protested. She started walking towards the cafeteria, and Dima followed her, waving his hands in the air. 

 

“Girl you better start talking or I’m gonna freak the fuck out.”

 

“You’re already freaking out,” she grumbled. He looked ready to strangle her, so she sighed and said, “Let’s get coffee first. Then I’ll tell you everything. Pinky promise.” 

 

She held out her pinky, and Dimitry huffed but wrapped his pinky around hers. (It had been their tradition for years, not barring the fact that they were now both in college.)

 

“Okay, how the hell did this happen?” he demanded once they were seated at a table, two cups of shitty hospital coffee between them.

 

“Lily heard us talking about me becoming a sugar baby at the Cafe,” Anya said without preamble. 

 

_ “Shit,”  _ Dima breathed. “So—what? She set you guys up?” 

 

Anya shrugged. “I guess so. For some reason she thought we should go on a date together, so she told Vaganov she set up a date for him with someone from the university. He assumed it was a faculty member. And you saw what she sent me.”

 

Dima took a sip of his coffee and gagged. “Jesus,  _ I  _ could make better,” he scowled. “I mean, I’m impressed. She noticed you two making sex eyes at each other and made it happen!” 

 

“I did not make sex eyes at him!” she cried. “And  _ nothing  _ happened.” But her cheeks flushed pink, and Dimitry raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Spill.” 

 

She sighed and rubbed her face. “It’s too embarrassing.” 

 

“For you or for me?” 

 

“I got drunk and tried to sleep with him.” 

 

Dima choked on his coffee. “Anya! That’s like, the number one rule of blind dates: don’t get fucking  _ wasted.”  _

 

“I know,” she groaned. “And he was so nice about everything! He paid for the ridiculously expensive drink I ordered and didn’t even like, and then I tried to get in his pants and passed out. And then he made me breakfast. It was  _ fun _ . I’m just so fucking  _ confused _ , Dima.”

 

He studied her, chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Why? It sounds like you like him a lot. And he definitely likes you.”

 

She made a face. “That’s the problem! I  _ know  _ him. It would be so different if he was some random somewhat-rich guy who wanted me to blow him for a few hundred euros a month. But with Gleb… I’m scared, Dima.” 

 

She took a sip of her shitty coffee and met his hazel eyes with her crystal-gray. “I’m scared I’m going to fall for him.”

 

***   
  
“Christ, Dimitry, that is  _ not  _ how you cook pizza!”

 

Anya sat at the counter of Vlad’s kitchen, holding a soda and laughing as Vlad yelled at Dima over his non-existent culinary skills. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to put it in upside down,” Anya grinned. 

 

Dimitry flipped her off and scowled at Vlad’s oven, where black smoke billowed from the ruined pie. 

 

“Okay, move over. Let the Pizza Master show you how it’s done.” 

 

Dima squawked as Vlad pushed him out of the way and rescued the abused pizza. 

 

“Damn. I don’t think we can save this one. Want to order takeout?” 

 

Dimitry groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, V.” 

 

“I vote Chinese!” Anya grinned. 

 

Half an hour later, there was enough food on the counter to feed a large family. Anya watched as Dima and Vlad teased each other, poking each other with chopsticks and slurping up the same noodle like  _ Lady and the Tramp. _

 

“Earth to Anya! What are you thinking about?” 

 

She looked up from her veggies and shrugged. “You guys are just too adorable. I’m gonna throw up.” 

 

Vlad laughed and sat on the barstool next to her. “Dima said something about you and a hot professor getting it on?” 

 

Anya shot a glare at her best friend. “We are  _ not  _ getting it on! We’re just—I don’t know. Nothing happened, and nothing’s  _ going  _ to happen. I doubt he’s interested in me.” She poked morosely at her plate, barely aware of the awkward silence. 

 

“They make sex eyes at each other all through class. Anya just needs to grow a pair and ask him on a second date!” 

 

“Dima!” Anya jumped off her chair and whacked his shoulder, albeit half-heartedly. “Besides, if you’re saying balls are synonymous with courage, just wait till I put this carrot up—” 

 

Dimitry swept Anya into his arms, carrying her bridal style into the living room despite her shrieked protests. 

 

“What are you doing?” she cried, flailing on the couch after he plopped her down, then sat beside her. Vlad watched from the kitchen, love in his eyes. 

 

“We’re going to watch your favorite French film, I’m going to take a thousand selfies on your phone, and you’re not going to think about Vaganov. And we’ll eat lots of ice cream! Deal?” 

 

Anya sighed and smiled weakly at her best friend. “Deal.” He always knew how to cheer her up without even asking.

 

Halfway through Amelie, both Vlad and Dima had fallen asleep snuggled up next to each other, buried under half a dozen fluffy blankets. Anya watched them for a beat, smiling wistfully.  _ God,  _ she wanted something like that. 

 

Gleb’s smile swam to the forefront of her mind, and she frowned and tried to focus on the movie. But now all she could think about was what it would be like to  _ date  _ Glen, to go to extravagant restaurants at night and make breakfast together every morning. They’d do all the tourist-y Paris things  _ together  _ and Anya would take hundreds of pictures of her beautiful boyfriend and— 

 

_ Anya,  _ she told herself.  _ Shut the fuck up.  _ She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy. She  _ didn’t.  _ But it was that much harder to remember why she didn’t want Gleb after she visualized a life with him. 

 

***

 

“So, did you and Vlad get it on after I left?” Anya asked, grinning and elbowing Dimitry as they walked through campus. 

 

Dimitry shrugged, hands going to his pockets. “Maybe.” 

 

“Oh to hell with  _ maybe.  _ Did you top this time?” 

 

“Anya!” 

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. Her phone started vibrating in her jean pocket, and she frowned at the unknown number. 

 

“Is it your sugar daddy?” Dima asked, nudging her with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 

“No,” Anya scowled. “I don’t know who this is. I, um, saved Gleb’s number at the beginning of the year.” 

 

She blushed and scratched the back of her neck. 

 

Dima barked out a laugh. “Oh my God, you’ve been into him all this time!” 

 

She punched his shoulder. Hard. “He put it on the whiteboard the first day and I thought he was hot so I saved it!” 

 

She glanced at her phone screen. “They left a voicemail. God, it better not be that chili pepper cult again.”  

 

“Chili pepper  _ what?” _ Dima demanded, one brow arching expertly. 

 

She flapped her hand at him, holding her phone to her ear. A second later, her smile disappeared and her mouth dropped open. 

 

“Is it the hospital?” 

 

Anya closed her eyes and lowered her phone, taking a shaky breath. “It was the finance office. He paid my tuition, Dima! The next  _ three years _ I get a full fucking ride! I don’t—“ 

 

She stopped herself, hand on her forehead. “Who the hell does he think he is?” 

 

“Anya, this is good!” Dima squeezed her shoulder, and she looked up at him, standing in the middle of a university street, anger burning in her eyes. 

 

“He didn’t even ask! We have no—this isn’t—god  _ dammit!”  _ She strode up to a tree on the side of the road and kicked it as hard as she could, barely feeling the pain race up her leg. 

 

Dimitry followed her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. 

 

“I’m going to his apartment,” she said, steel-blue eyes flashing like a thunderstorm. 

 

“Anya, wait. Let’s think about this for a second.” 

 

“There’s nothing to think about! I’m going to go to his apartment and punch him in the face!” 

 

She strode off, and Dima sent a prayer to the heavens and followed her. 

 

“I’m serious, Dimitry. I’m going to tell him—” she huffed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him. But we didn’t  _ talk  _ about any of this!” 

 

They reached the parking garage and walked to Anya’s car. “Do you have his address?” 

 

Anya unlocked her car and shrugged innocently. “I kind of, um, saved his address on Sunday morning.”

 

Dimitry shook his head, a grin lighting up his face. “You are  _ so  _ fucked. Just remember to use condoms,” he said with a dramatic wink. 

 

She got in her car and flipped him off. “That is  _ not  _ what I’m doing, asshole!” She raced out of the parking garage, scowling at Dimitry’s cheery thumbs-up and tightening her fingers around the steering wheel. She was going to walk into Vaganov’s apartment and give him a piece of her mind. And her mind was definitely not going to contemplate  _ him:  _ his perfect body, those lovely brown eyes, and  _ especially  _ not the way he was always so infuriatingly kind. 

 

Her phone told her in robotic French to turn right and she did, frowning up at the towering apartment building, glass shining in the early afternoon light. 

 

She parked and shoved her keys in her back pocket, then strode into his building. 

 

The beautiful lobby caught her eye; she hadn’t noticed it while she was drunk out of her mind Saturday night. It was a tasteful mix of modern and classical, white leather couches and European tapestries accenting the huge room. 

 

She strode up to the front desk and plastered a smile on her face. The young man sitting behind it glanced at her and turned back to his computer screen. 

 

“I’m looking for Gleb Vaganov,” she said, straightening and trying to sound as authoritative as possible. 

 

The attendant shot up in his seat. “Oh, you’re here for Mr. V? He’s in 334, but unfortunately our elevator needs maintenance so you’ll have to take the stairs.” He shrugged apologetically. 

 

“Okay, thanks,” Anya said, walking towards the door marked “STAIRS” with a sigh. It seemed the universe was determined to make her work for everything, including the satisfaction of punching her professor in the face. 

 

“Oh, and would you mind not telling him I was on my computer? I’m new, and I want him to like me,” the attendant called after her, smiling awkwardly. 

 

“Sure,” she replied, glancing back in confusion as he beamed, shoulders instantly relaxing. Was Gleb important around here or something? He seemed to think he could fix everyone’s problems by shoving his nose where it didn’t belong; maybe the desk guy was a past sugar baby? 

 

Anya pursed her lips at the thought, something fiery rushing through her at the thought of Gleb with someone else. 

 

She stopped climbing the stairs and mentally kicked herself. Was she  _ jealous  _ over Gleb’s possible relationships? 

 

She started climbing again with a vengeance, enjoying the burn in her thighs as she passed the second floor. She did  _ not  _ care what Gleb did with his time—or money. 

 

Unless he was spending it on her. 

 

She reached the third floor and strode down the hallway to 334. She knocked vehemently, panting from the walk up the stairs and her anger. A few seconds later Gleb answered the door, brow furrowing as he took in her presence. 

 

“Anya? What—”

 

She pushed past him into his apartment, biting her lip to keep from crumpling at his feet. He was in the same suit from class earlier, dark blue jacket and pants, button-up loosened slightly to reveal a sliver of tan chest. 

 

He closed the door and turned to her, hands on his hips. “What’s wrong? Did something happen with Maria?”

 

“No! Why does everyone assume my dying grandmother is controlling my emotions?” She strode up to Gleb until they were inches apart—

 

“What’s wrong is that you paid for my tuition! Without even  _ asking  _ me, you asshole! We didn’t even talk about it, and now you probably expect me to sleep with you or some shit!” 

 

Gleb sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I won’t apologize for paying for your tuition. I  _ care  _ about you, Anya. You deserve the ability to have a good education, no matter your family’s circumstances. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you beforehand, but what’s done is done.” 

 

Anya crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. “That isn’t--”  _ fuck.  _ She had come all the way here to yell at Gleb and make herself feel better about always being an asshole, and here he was being all reasonable and gentleman-ly. 

 

“And I don’t expect you to sleep with me,” he continued, one eyebrow quirking. “But I know you want to.” 

 

Anya’s hand was moving before her mind could catch up to her anger, all she knew was he was _rightwrong_ _don’t think about it just_ punch _him._

 

And then Gleb grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the door. “Wanna try that again, princess?” he asked, voice low and igniting something dangerous in her belly. 

 

“No,” she breathed. And she did what her heart had been telling her to do all semester: close her eyes and kiss him. 

 

Gleb gasped against her mouth, hand tightening around her wrist, and she lifted her other hand to slide along the back of his neck, gently tugging at the soft curls there. 

 

_ “Anya,”  _ he groaned, pushing against her lips with his tongue. She let him in, melting against him, and he wrapped his arms around her and nibbled at her bottom lip. Their first kiss was nothing like she expected: soft and rough in all the right places. Her lips scratched against his stubble and his warm tongue darted past her teeth. 

 

She keened, brain short-circuiting and she just wanted more more  _ more.  _ “Fuck—fuck me, Gleb.” 

 

“Wait, Anya,” he said, voice cracking as she grinded against his front. “Let’s talk about this.” 

 

“What is there to talk about?” she demanded. But she pulled away and looked up into his blown pupils. 

 

“Come on.” he grabbed her hand and led her to his bedroom. She followed happily, the confusion and anger of just ten minutes ago dissipating into simultaneous contentment and lust for more. 

 

He let go of her hand and went to his nightstand. “Sit,” he ordered, and she sat on the bed, one hand going to trace her pulsing lips. 

 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, standing in front of her. 

 

“God, yes,” she said urgently, nodding quickly. 

 

He smiled at her, pulled a folder and pen out of a drawer, then sat beside her, tense from the will-power it took not to pin her to the bed and devour her then and there.    
  


“So, I’ve noticed that you get turned on when I order you around. Most people don’t react the way you do when they get a command or are teased. But you… you’re different.” 

 

He paused and lifted his hand as if to touch her face, then quickly dropped it, clearing his throat. 

 

“If I’m right about you, I think you’d be interested in BDSM. Vanilla sex just… wasn’t enough for you?” 

 

Anya had been turning pink the moment Gleb brought her into his room, but now that he realized her darkest fantasy she was positively scarlet. 

 

“Um, yeah,” she mumbled. “I, um,” she shrugged, embarrassed, and turned her gaze to her lap. 

  
  
“Speak up, princess,” he said, using a finger to tilt her chin up. Electricity shot through her at the soft touch, and she swallowed and met his eyes. 

 

“I’ve had sex twice. I’ve made out with a lot of guys, but what we just did, the way I feel about you—” she cut herself off because she just wanted to be fucked and feelings did  _ not  _ have to be involved. “Those boys… it just wasn’t fun. They didn’t care about whether I was enjoying it or not. It was painful, honestly, and not in a good way.” her lips curled, and Gleb laughed. The melodic sound gave her strength to continue. 

 

“I was always very curious about sex; people in America made it out to be this huge deal, like  _ the  _ rite of passage, but my first time...” she grimaced. “It hurt. And then it was boring, and I just wasn’t turned on at all. So I just haven’t been interested in sex for a long time. But I discovered the internet, porn and sex stories and—and fanfiction,” she added, ducking her head. “And now I have all these things I really want to try with some I trust and—yeah,” she finished lamely, cutting herself off because she had nearly said  _ love  _ and neither of them were ready for that—or wanted it. “There’s a lot,” she added, embarrassed.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” he smiled, and a warm feeling settled in her stomach that had nothing to do with the topic of conversation. “And that’s why I wanted to talk about this. Because we can make out, and have intercourse, and that’s fine. It will be fun. But the satisfaction and trust that comes from a BDSM relationship in the bedroom is truly beyond compare. This is a contract, it’s got everything we need to know to be on the same page with safe words, kinks, how this relationship is going to operate outside the bedroom… all that good stuff. How do you feel about everything so far?”

 

Anya nodded and scooched closer to him in response. “I’m excited,” she said honestly. Even yesterday, the thought of having kinky sex with her professor would have turned her on and freaked her out. But now? “I want this.” 

 

“Me too,” he said softly, black eyes boring into hers. They gazed at each other for what could have been a heartbeat—could have been eternity. “So, do you know what BDSM stands for?” he asked, breaking the taut silence.

 

“Each letter has two corresponding words. So  _ B  _ is bondage and discipline,  _ D  _ is for domination/submission, and then S and M stand for Sadism and Masochism.” she grinned, listing the titles off on her fingers. 

 

“Good girl,” he smiled, rubbing her shoulder. (They had somehow ended up so close that if Anya moved a few inches she was in his lap.) 

 

She glowed at the praise. “Fanfiction sure taught you a lot, huh?” he smirked.

 

“Asshole,” she scowled, punching his shoulder. 

 

“Oh, I don’t think you want to try me today. No swearing, remember? Especially in the bedroom.” 

 

“Professor,” Anya whined, not knowing  _ how  _ she would sleep with him without cursing her guts out. But she saw the flash of fire in his eyes, the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

 

Heaven knew how they’d get through this contract without killing or fucking each other first.

 

“Alright, let’s start with safe words. Do you have an idea for yours?”

 

Anya frowned and bit her lip. “Um… Dima!” She realized with a grin.   
  


“A  _ man  _ is your safety word?” he demanded, raising an eyebrow. 

 

She shrugged, toes curling at the thought that he had a protective streak. “He’s my best friend! And he’s gay, so don’t worry about me screwing around with him.” she laughed at the thought. 

 

“Alright, I believe you.” he continued rubbing her shoulder, hand working at a difficult knot, and she moaned. 

 

“Fuck, I can’t think when you do that.” 

 

“And you keep swearing? Christ, Miss Romanoff, you must have a death wish. Or punishment wish,” he smirked, withdrawing his large hand.

 

She whimpered at the loss of contact, eyes going hazy. 

 

“Patience, princess. You’ll get a special reward if we can make it through the important sections tonight.” 

 

She beamed. “Like what?” 

 

“Oh, I can think of a few that will have you screaming for mercy. Or for more.” 

 

“Please,” she begged, squeezing closer to him and pressing kisses to his neck. “Want you so bad.” 

 

“I know, princess. But if we don’t make it through the first page at least you aren’t coming tonight.” 

 

She whimpered against his throat. “Okay. What’s your safeword?” 

 

“Elephant,” he said without hesitation. 

 

She couldn’t hold back a giggle.  _ “Elephant?”  _

 

He shrugged. “Would you rather it be a classmate of yours?” 

 

She grimaced. “Hell no. What’s next?” 

 

“Language,” he sighed. “Next is hard limits. What you are absolutely not into.” 

 

She frowned, resting her chin on his shoulder. “I haven’t really thought of that. I guess I don’t want you to talk down to me. Like, call me slut or bitch or your whore. I know I’m into kinky shit, but I’m not comfortable with that.” 

 

He nodded. “That’s completely okay, Anya. You don’t have to justify any kink or lack of one. I respect your boundaries, and you respect mine. Deal?” 

 

“Deal,” she grinned, holding up her fist. “Bump me.” 

 

He sighed, shaking his head tiredly, but fist-bumped her anyways. She laughed and made explosion noises. 

 

“Nerd.” 

 

She whacked his shoulder.  _ “Anyways,  _ I also don’t think I’m into whips or paddles. But I want to be, um, spanked,” she stuttered, looking at the floor and twisting her hands together. “God, I’ve never told anyone that.” 

 

“You’re doing good,” he said, rubbing her arm. He scribbled on the contract, and she just watched him for a moment. 

 

“Thanks, Professor.” She  _ knew  _ what that name did to him, the little shit—how hard he already was underneath his dress pants, how hearing his sweet-looking student utter filthy words made his cock jump and breath catch, mesmerized by her perfect pink lips. 

 

“Um, I don’t want to be hit. Like in the face, or anywhere else—except the ass,” she added, a grin lifting her lips. “I think that’s it for “no’s.” Can we, um, change this after tonight? Or do I have to put everything down now?” 

 

“Everything about this is flexible. We can end the contract at any time, change and edit at any time. I’ll print you a copy so you can have this and look it over after tonight. But there’s no weird secret “sign this and you’re becoming my slave for life.” It’s just a concrete way to know what we want from this relationship. It establishes trust and prevents unintentional pain. Got it?” 

 

She nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah. what are your boundaries?”

 

“Definitely auto-erotic asphyxiation.” She made the  _ I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about _ face he often saw in lectures, so he smiled and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “Choking. It’s dangerous, and it scares me. I don’t want to put you at risk like that. Edge play. Also sounding, and having stuff up my ass. And hitting, too, so I’m glad we’re on the same page with that. It can be hard, sometimes, when a Sub wants one thing and a Dom wants another. Contracts help with that, so we aren’t in a scene and then suddenly arguing about whether I’m comfortable hitting you.”

 

“Got it. God, this is so much more information than porn,” she laughed. 

 

“Well, hopefully the actors discuss all this beforehand. Now the fun part. What turns you on?” 

 

She looked up into his dark eyes, irises completely swallowed by the pupils. She knew her eyes probably looked the same. “Guess,” she breathed.

 

He grinned wickedly and pulled her onto his lap, tossing the contract behind them. “You definitely have a praise kink. Which is perfect, because it’s so easy to compliment you. You’re so beautiful, Anya. Every day in my classroom I’m so distracted by your beautiful eyes, your gorgeous smile.” 

 

She shuddered, breaths coming faster. “Professor…” 

 

He smiled, rubbing her thighs, and she blushed and buried her face in his chest. “Stop it,” she mumbled. 

 

“I can’t, there’s too much to talk about. Your perfect lips,” he started, lifting her chin to press a soft kiss to them. “Your eyes.” she shut her eyes, smiling dreamily, and he pressed faint kisses to each eyelid. “You’re my princess. There’s nothing about you I can’t praise.” 

 

She smiled and shifted in his lap, moaning as his hardness pressed against her pussy. “That was only— _ ah— _  one kink,” she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders as he bucked up against her. 

 

“I know there are a million more. But I want to hear you say them.” 

 

He rested his hands on her hips, and she leaned forward until their foreheads were brushing and smiled. “I want to be submissive. I want to be  _ your  _ submissive. Your princess.”

 

“You already are,” he whispered, hands sliding under her shirt and trailing along her ribs. 

 

“Fuck,” she breathed, moving to pull off her top. 

 

He grabbed her wrists. “Do I have to tie you up? Patience,” he chastised. 

 

“Fuck, please tie me up,” she begged, bucking against him. 

 

He laughed. “If you’re good. Now tell me at least five more kinks or you won’t come tonight.” 

 

She swore under her breath. “Okay. Toys, anal, hair-pulling, over-stimulation and edging. But it bothers me when in porn the subs, like, aren’t allowed to use safe words. I want you to take me apart, but I still want the choice if it becomes too much. Was that five?”

 

“Good girl,” he praised, hands sliding under her shirt again. “Are you ready?” 

 

_ “Fuck,  _ yes please just fuck me—” 

 

“Oh no. a certain princess needs to be punished for her disobedience. Strip for me.” 

 

She grinned and slowly slid off his lap, standing in between his legs. “Tell me what you like, daddy.” 

 

He choked. “That. say that word again.” 

 

She grinned wolfishly and slowly unbuttoned her jeans. “I didn’t hear the magic word.” 

 

“Damnit, Anya.” he stood up, grabbed her, and shoved her onto the bed. 

 

She squealed and fumbled with her pants. 

 

He straddled her, erection straining against her lower stomach, and yanked her shirt off. 

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, tracing her lavender bralette with his fingertips. She bucked underneath him to no avail. 

 

“I know, just fuck me,” she groaned. 

 

“I’ve got half a mind to tie you up and make you listen to me read the ten-page contract and discuss in detail everything you want me to do to you—and I _ won’t do any of them _ . Not tonight, if you don’t behave.”

 

She whimpered and stilled beneath him.  _ “Please,  _ Daddy.” she had no idea where the nickname came from. She’d never wanted to call a guy daddy before, but all of a sudden he was pulling down her jeans and she’d scream  _ Daddy  _ all day, just for the way it affected him. 

 

“You want to be spanked?” 

 

She nodded rapidly, gasping as he trailed his hands down her thighs, then up to rub at her breasts through the lacy fabric.

 

“Take off your underwear,” he ordered. She scrambled to obey, yanking off her bralette and tossing it to the side, then sliding off her panties. 

 

He studied her, mouth falling open, and she fought the urge to cover herself, cheeks reddening. 

 

“You’re  _ so  _ beautiful, princess,” he breathed. 

 

Her hips trembled and she turned her head away, face flushed. 

 

“Alright, on my lap.” He sat on the edge of the bed, and she crawled over to him, biting her lower lip. 

 

“We’ll start with ten for tonight. You’ll count each one after I give it to you and thank me. While in a scene, you’ll call me Sir, Professor, or Daddy. Got it?” 

 

Yeah,” she grinned, squeezing his thigh. 

 

“Yes  _ Sir,”  _ he corrected, placing a warm hand over hers. 

 

“No need to call me Sir, Professor,” she smirked, eyes twinkling mischievously. 

 

“Now you’re just asking for it,” he growled. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his lap, body bent nearly in half over his thighs, ignoring her squeal of shock. She stared at the dark wood floor, wondering how she had ended up in her sexy professor’s lap when he started. 

 

_ Slap.  _ Fire shot from Vaganov’s hand to her ass, and she gasped and arched her back. “Fuck,” she moaned. 

 

He rubbed the red spot, and she could feel him frown. “Don’t make this more difficult for yourself, princess. I can do this all day.” 

 

“Oh, um, one,” she said quickly.

 

“And?” He hit her again, this time on the other cheek. She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Two. Thank you, Daddy.” 

 

It was everything she dreamed and more. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire; a delicious mix of pleasure and pain that had her panting. She knew she was already dripping wet and he hadn’t even  _ looked  _ at her pussy. 

 

By the sixth spank, she was writhing against him, begging for release. 

 

_ “Please,  _ Professor. I need to co— _ ahh,”  _ she cried as he smacked just below the curve of her ass. 

 

“What was that?” He asked, and she didn’t have to see his face to hear the wicked grin. 

 

“Seven, Daddy,” she panted. “Tha-thank you.” 

 

“That’s my beautiful girl. Only three more. You can do it, Princess.” 

 

She groaned as he rubbed her flaming cheeks. “Please,” she begged, too turned on to know what she was asking for. 

 

“You want to be good for Daddy?” 

 

“Fuck, yes,” she breathed. 

 

There was silence, and she whined and tried to turn her head to see what he was thinking. 

 

A hand shot out to grip her hair and  _ yanked,  _ just as he viciously clapped her ass with the back of his hand. 

 

She screamed, arching her back and letting her Daddy pull her head back with her hair. 

 

“What’s the number, Princess,” he growled. 

 

“Eight,” she whimpered, hands scrabbling against his thighs for release from the deliriously pleasurable fire starting in her scalp. 

 

He slowly lowered her head back down and she felt tears prickling in her eyes. He was so  _ good _ to her, from the way he tugged her hair to how he held her in his strong arms, Anya was—

 

_ Slap.  _

 

Anya screamed again, tears starting to run down her face. The pleasure was almost too great, and she had barely sobbed out a broken  _ nine  _ before he gave her the next one. 

 

Suddenly, Gleb had stopped spanking her, and she sagged in his lap, tears running down her face and entire body trembling. His large hands caressed her ass and her heart stuttered. 

 

“You did so good, Princess. I’m so proud of you.” Gleb tenderly lifted her up and cradled her in his lap, mindful of her burning ass. 

 

She still whimpered as his dress pants dragged against her bum, but the smile in his eyes was worth all the discomfort in the world. 

 

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, voice cracking. 

 

He pressed his forehead to hers and kissed her sweetly. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he breathed. He wiped away her tears and laid her on the bed on her stomach. “Wait right here, I’ll get you some water and lotion.” 

 

Anya dropped her head onto the pillow and sighed heavily.  _ Holy fucking shit.  _ Sex had  _ never  _ made her feel the way Gleb had just made her feel—and she hadn’t even come.

 

Anya bit her lip. Speaking of come… Gleb hadn’t told her she couldn’t touch herself. So she slowly flipped over, moaning as her ass came in contact with the soft comforter. She glanced towards the bedroom door, where the silhouette of her Daddy had vanished. She licked her lips and brought her right hand to her pussy lips, ignoring the foreplay and going straight for her clit. 

 

She gasped, arching her back, eyes squeezing shut. She was  _ soaked,  _ and the wetness coating her fingers made the delicious slide against the sensitive nub even more wonderful. 

 

_ “Fuck,”  _ she groaned, throwing her head back and rubbing faster. She was so  _ close— _

 

An all-familiar hand snatched her hand away from her core, squeezing her wrist so tightly her eyes flew open and a cry sprang from her lips. 

 

Gleb glared down at her, holding her wrist with one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I leave you for five minutes and you’re jerking off like a bitch in heat? I’m disappointed in you, Miss Romanoff. I told you to wait.” 

 

She whimpered as he released her hand and sat beside her, shame flushing her cheeks bright red. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. 

 

He rubbed her shoulder, then moved a hand down to her breast and flicked the nipple.  _ “Fuck! Ahh—”  _ she broke off into a wordless cry as he rolled the stiff peak between his thick fingers. 

 

“Apology accepted,” he grinned. “Roll over.” 

 

She did, then pushed up onto her elbows so her ass was prominently displayed. “Like what you see?” she smirked. 

 

He trailed a finger from her tight asshole to her clit and she shrieked and fell back on the bed. 

 

“I love it,” he replied, nails lightly scraping at her burning ass. 

 

She moaned incoherently and buried her face in the pillow. 

 

His hands suddenly left her cheeks, and she whined and lifted her head. “Here, drink some of this.” 

 

He was at the side of the bed, holding up a delicious-looking water bottle. She immediately opened her mouth, raising her eyes to his. 

 

“Oh, you want me to give it to you? Then you’ll have to work for it. On your knees.” 

 

Anya immediately complied, eyes never leaving his. Her heels dug into her ass deliciously and her eyes fluttered closed, mouth falling open. 

 

She heard a cap being unscrewed and then there was something that was definitely not a water bottle pressing against her lips.

 

“Show me you can take it,” he breathed. 

 

She opened her mouth immediately, sucking on his fingers, and she  _ felt  _ him groan. 

 

“Just like that, Princess,” he murmured. He pulled his fingers away and she mewled pathetically, opening her eyes.

 

He smiled down at her and lifted the bottle to her lips. She drank desperately, suddenly feeling like she hadn’t had a lick of water in years. 

 

He let her finish half the bottle then pulled it away, ignoring her whine of protest. “Slow down, Princess. You’ll hurt yourself.” 

 

She shook her head and laid back on the bed, rubbing her ass against the blankets. “Why don’t  _ you _ hurt me instead?” 

 

He laughed and drank the rest of the bottle. “If you’re good. First, let’s see that ass.” 

 

He pulled her over so she was laying on the edge of the bed with her face once again pressed against the pillow. She heard a plastic bag crinkling and then something freezing as  _ hell _ was touching her ass and she shrieked and bucked under his hands. 

 

“Shh, it’s just ice. It will help with swelling.” 

 

Anya groaned against the pillow. “I want to be swollen,” she muttered. 

 

He laughed again, a truly beautiful sound she wanted to bottle up and keep in her heart forever. “Tomorrow morning you won’t. Now keep still.” 

 

But try as hard as she could, Anya couldn’t stand the ice on her ass—the truth was, she liked it too much, and went to far as to grab Gleb’s now-cold hand and push it against her asshole. “Fuck me,” she groaned, grinding against his finger. “Put the ice inside me.” 

 

Gleb yanked his hand away and slapped her ass,  _ hard.  _ She yelped, and he wiped all the ice cubes off her ass with cold fingers. 

 

“Someone needs to cool down,” he decided, and tossed the bag to the side. He rolled Anya over and scooped her up in his arms. She giggled and tried to find his nipples through his button-up shirt. 

 

“Stop that,” he growled. She pouted but obeyed, and he carried her to the bathroom and set her down in the giant bathtub. 

 

“You’re going to make me have a cold bath?” she cried, eyes widening. Even Gleb couldn’t be  _ that  _ cruel. 

 

He shook his head, lips curling into her favorite wicked grin. “You can decide the temperature.” he pulled a crystal knob and a thick stream of water poured out of the main faucet. “Feel it and tell me when it’s the temperature you like.” 

 

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, holding her hand under the stream, confusing furrowing her brow. What was the point of taking a bath in the middle of a scene? 

 

The water was nearly hot enough for her taste when Gleb started undressing, and her whole mind blanked. 

 

She forgot about the heat of the water, the fact that she was sitting naked in a bathtub in her professor’s apartment. She forgot about every important and unimportant detail of her life, because now the only thing that mattered was her Daddy’s  _ incredible  _ body. 

 

Her mouth went dry at the sight of his powerful biceps, the washboard abs she couldn’t  _ wait  _ to touch and kiss and suck.  _ God,  _ she didn’t know where to look, but when his hands moved to his belt buckle and she gasped audibly (over the sound of the bathtub filling, mind you) he looked up sharply. 

 

“I gave you an order, Princess.” 

 

“Oh! Um, yeah, the water’s fine. Sir,” she added quickly, hating and loving the way his beautiful face frowned at her. 

 

“Good,” he said, expression still stern. Her attention drifted back to his broad shoulders and he snapped his fingers, jolting her out of her horny reverie. 

 

“Unplug the tub. I don’t want you taking a bath just yet.” 

 

She frowned but did as she was told, sitting in barely an inch of deliciously hot water that stung her ass like  _ fuck.  _

 

“Now lay down, and position yourself under the spray.”  _ Shit.  _ He wanted her to—

 

Anya laid back on her elbows and edged closer until the stream of water was inches from her ass. 

 

“Put your pussy under it. When you think you’re going to come, hold your hands over your clit until I say so.” 

 

Anya swallowed and obeyed. 

 

“Fuck!” She cried immediately, thrusting her hips up into an incredibly powerful spray of water. “Fuckfuck _ fuck.”  _ Her head lolled back, eyes rolling in her head. She had  _ never  _ felt anything like this, and never dreamed foreplay could feel this good. 

 

She dropped her elbows and laid completely on her back, her entire body vibrating with pressure. “It’s—it’s too much, I’m going to—“ 

 

“Remember my orders, Princess?” 

 

Anya jumped and brought her hands to cover opening without touching it, keeping water from her entrance and clitoris. It was  _ hard,  _ holding her hands an inch above her core and not able to touch herself. “Please,” she begged, looking up at him. 

 

Her brain-short circuited. 

 

Gleb stood before her completely nude, face more vulnerable than anything she had ever seen. “Like what you see?” he asked, lips quirking upwards, but there was the tiniest bit of insecurity in his dark eyes.

 

She nodded and sat up, forgetting her own pleasure. “Come in?” 

 

He grinned and walked to the side of the tub. Anya’s gaze trailed down his sculpted torso and caught on his thick cock which was  _ very  _ excited to see her. 

 

“Holy fuck,” she breathed. Gleb wasn’t hung like a ten-inch porn star, but he was bigger and thicker than both of the guys she’d fucked before. 

 

He stepped into the bathtub with her and she immediately rose to her knees, places her palms on his thick thighs. She stared at his cock hungrily, and leaned in to start pleasuring him when he swiftly took a step back. “No, Anya. I want you to feel good first.” 

 

“Daddy,” she pouted, and gained immense pleasure from seeing his dick twitch, a pearly bead of precome leaking from the tip. 

 

Anya’s hips canted immediately, but he shook his head and knelt down in front of her, water splashing around them. 

 

“Put the plug back in. Let’s take a bath.” 

 

Anya quickly obeyed, and the second the water level started rising Gleb pulled Anya flush to his chest, mouthing at her neck. 

 

She gasped and squirmed against him, moaning loudly when he scraped his teeth against her jugular vein. 

 

“Can I give you a hickey?” he asked, voice rough. 

 

“God, yes,” she panted, reaching behind her back to try and find his cock. She barely touched his stomach before he grabbed her wrist. “This night is for you, Princess,” he murmured, kissing a trail up her neck to nibble on the shell of her ear. 

 

Anya didn’t have a reply to that, but then Gleb resumed sucking on her neck and she didn’t have to. Once Gleb was satisfied with his work, he licked over each mark, making Anya shudder. Then his fingers started trailing down her stomach and Anya’s breath hitched and she grabbed his hand. 

 

“Is something wrong?” Gleb asked, freezing immediately. 

 

“No, just wanna face you,” she murmured, turning in the tub to smile shyly at Gleb. The water was up to their stomachs now, luxuriously hot and steaming. 

 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Gleb whispered, reaching out to touch Anya’s cheek. She leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

Suddenly warm lips were pressing against hers, and she whimpered and threw her arms around his neck, arching up to meet his kiss. 

 

He pulled her close, hands roaming from her shoulders to thighs without touching any hot spots. “Gleb,” she whined against his mouth, and he laughed low in his throat, taking the time to fuck his tongue into her mouth while sliding his hands down her back to squeeze her ass cheeks. 

 

“Babe! Fuck,” Anya exclaimed, rolling her hips forward, desperate for any type of stimulation. He didn’t give her any, holding her hips still with one hand and teasing her asshole with the other, making slow, wide circles around her hole without ever touching it. 

 

“What was that?” he asked, breaking the kiss and arching a brow. “Shit—I mean, Sir,” Anya amended quickly. “I don’t know if you want to orgasm tonight, Miss Romanoff. You just can’t obey the rules. And naughty girls get punished.” 

 

“No, please Daddy, I’ll be good,” Anya cried desperately, immediately stilling her hips and looking up at him with silver-limned eyes. The thought of not getting to climax after all this time actually brought her to tears, and Gleb saw and laughed darkly. 

 

“Maybe another night. Don’t worry, tonight you’ll get what you want, my Princess.” 

 

Anya was barely able to sigh with relief before Gleb snaked a hand down her body, fingers quickly parting her pussy lips and thumb rubbing her clit in quick circles. 

 

Anya screamed and writhed in Gleb’s arms, back arching and thrusting her heavy breasts before her, nipples hard as rocks. Gleb took the opportunity to take one of her nipples into her mouth, and Anya had thought she had experienced pleasure before this moment—she was wrong. 

 

She bucked against Gleb’s fingers, exactly as thick and long as she needed them. They danced along her clit and teased her weeping entrance. 

 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come!” Anya cried, tightening her arms around Gleb’s neck and latching onto his collarbone with her lips. 

 

“Not quite yet, Princess,” Gleb replied, ceasing his ministrations to her breast and core. Anya wailed in frustration, canting her hips to try and chase the incredible pleasure her Daddy’s fingers gave her. But before she could complain more, Gleb stood up and brought Anya with him, scooping her up bridal style and turning off the bath with one hand. 

 

“What—” Anya broke off with a scream as Gleb jumped out of the tub and rushed to his bed, dumping her across the sheets, not seeming to mind that her sopping wet body soaked them.

 

“Open your legs, Princess,” he commanded, and she giggled and obeyed, praying to every god she knew that she would finally catch her pleasure, a swift butterfly always teasing her, always slightly out of reach. 

 

Gleb wasted no time going to town on Anya, spreading her lips with his fingers and massaging her aching pussy with his tongue. His stubble scraped magnificently against her inner thighs and pussy, providing much-needed relief that still wasn’t enough. 

 

Anya moaned incoherently, legs spread as wide as possible and hips trembling as her Daddy took care of her. He stopped using his tongue and looked up at her, licking his lips. “Don’t cover your face, beautiful. I want to see you. And hear you scream my name.” 

 

Anya blushed furiously. She had covered her face with her hands to muffle the sounds she was making, embarrassed that she was overstimulated so easily. So she moved her hands above her head and fisted her hands in the sheets as he continued rubbing the outside of her opening. “I don’t want you coming until I say you can. If you’re close, you tell me. Understand?” 

 

“Yes, Professor Vaga— _ fuck,”  _ she broke off with a whine as he went back to using his tongue and sucked on her clit, teeth scraping gently at the sensitive nub. “Fuckfuckingdammit I’m gonna come,” she cried seconds later, bucking beneath him. He placed on large hand on her stomach, immediately stilling her. 

 

“Stop teasing,  _ please _ ,” Anya begged, tears in her eyes again and voice wrecked. 

 

“All you had to do was ask,” Gleb replied evilly, suddenly thrusting two fingers into her pussy. She screamed brokenly, overstimulation tears streaming down her face as he lapped at her clit. “Come for me, Princess,” he murmured against her heat, a third finger joining the two inside her, curling wickedly. 

 

“Yes, I— _ fuck,”  _ Anya gasped, body seizing up as the best orgasm of her life rolled through her. Pleasure roared through her veins, out her body in a drawn-out wail that seemed to last decades. 

 

There was still a warm presence against her core, soft and comforting, and she slowly opened her eyes to see Gleb kneeling there, tongue laying heavy against her entrance. 

 

“Fuck, that was…” Anya didn’t have words. “A lot of work for one orgasm.” 

 

Gleb chuckled and poked her clit with his tongue, fingers sliding out of her pussy, and she shrieked and wiggled away from him, boneless and feeling strangely empty. 

 

“Bastard,” she whined, but the insult was softened by the sleepy smile on her face. 

 

“How was that?” He asked, crawling to her side and pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

 

“Amazing.  _ God,  _ I didn’t think sex could be that good or that  _ fun _ . Fuck, I got so loud,” she muttered, color rising in her cheeks as she looked up at him. 

 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Anya. You’re perfect.” 

 

She whimpered slightly, teasing her lower lip with her teeth, and Gleb’s cock jumped. 

 

She looked over to see his leaking member and frowned. “Let me—“ 

 

“No, Anya, you must be exhausted. Sleep.”

 

“But—“ she protested, looking from his taut muscles to his erection. 

 

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. 

 

She sighed heavily, head falling back onto the silk sheets. “Okay. But next time… next time  _ I’ll  _ take care of  _ you,”  _ she said, yawning hugely. 

 

He laughed and bopped her nose with a fingertip. “Do you need anything? Water, pajamas…?” he drifts off, studying her face, finger tracing her cheek. 

 

She stuck her tongue out at him, trying to catch his finger. “A robe made out of gold,” she grinned.

 

He barked out a laugh and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before standing, walking to his closet. “We’ll see about that.”

 

Aurora stared at him, admiring his muscled back and very nice ass. 

 

“Like the view?” he asked, glancing back at her, smile playing across his lips. 

 

“Maybe.” 

 

He scoffed and disappeared into his closet, and she pulled the blankets tighter around herself.  _ Wow.  _ That had been— _ damn.  _ Even better than what she imagined sex with her sexy professor to be like. 

 

He walked back to the bedside, sadly wearing boxers and holding a folded pajama set. “Unfortunately I do not have a golden robe, but next time I go shopping I’ll get you whatever you want.” 

 

Anya grinned. “ _ Anything _ ?” 

 

And Gleb didn’t say  _ yes, I’d buy the whole fucking world if you asked _ , but she must have read it in his eyes, because her smile softened and she pulled him down for a sleepy kiss. 

 

When they pulled apart for air, Anya rested her forehead against Gleb’s and huffed out a laugh. 

 

Gleb opened his eyes. “What?” 

 

Anya shook her head, grabbing at the pajamas in his hands. He pulled away, not giving them up. “What, Anya.” 

 

She rolled her eyes and hugged herself. “I just—just was wondering if I was a bad kisser. That’s all.” She tried to speak lightly, but there was genuine worry in her eyes. “I’m sure you’re much more experienced and all that, so I—“ 

 

“Oh, Anya,” Gleb sighed, sitting next to her in bed and cupping her cheek. “You are a  _ wonderful  _ kisser. And yes, I’ve kissed and slept with many women. But honestly? None of them have made me feel the way you do. It doesn’t matter what your past or experience is. All I care about is the future—our future.” 

 

He touched her hand, laced their fingers together. “Okay?” 

 

She nodded, small smiling curling her lips up. “Okay.” 

 

“Alright, time for bed.” 

 

“I’m not tired,” she protested, but another huge yawn escaped her perfect mouth.

 

Vaganov laughed. “Your body betrays you. Come on, if you don’t sleep with me I’ll be all alone.” He pouted, lips curving downward and eyes sad. 

 

Anya shook her head. “Don’t look at me like that,” she begged, pulling the plaid pajama pants on without underwear—she was too lazy to go to the bathroom and find them. 

 

“Like what?” He asked, furrowing his brow and jutting out his lower lip until he looked quite ridiculous. 

 

She laughed and shoved his shoulder.  _ God,  _ it was hard as a rock. She was definitely never going to get over how attractive this man was. 

 

Anya looked at the t-shirt Gleb had given her: a _guardians of the galaxy  _ tee featuring all of the guardians. 

 

“Love the pajamas,” she smirked, pulling the t-shirt on. 

 

“Well, I don’t know what kind of sex god you think I am, but I don’t exactly keep a closet full of lingerie for all of my various lovers.” 

 

“That needs to change,” she smiled. 

 

“Oh really?” He retorted, brow quirking. They stared at each other for a second and then Gleb tackled her into the bed, tickling her mercilessly. 

 

Anya shrieked and writhed under him, shoving at his chest without success. 

 

“I’m gonna pee,” she exclaimed, gasping for breath as his clever fingers dug into her sides, her neck. 

 

Finally, he relented, and she flopped against the pillows, panting. 

 

“Someone’s sensitive,” Gleb noted, mischief in his dark eyes. 

 

Anya scowled and stood on shaky legs. “I’ll be right back.” 

 

She hobbled to the bathroom, bladder on fire. She could feel Gleb’s eyes on her but she didn’t look back.  _ Goddamn,  _ she was in trouble. 

 

She was sleeping with her college professor. 

 

Normally, her mind would demand answers, but as she sat on the toilet, every muscle relaxed and heart so satisfied she felt it could burst, she didn’t feel the need to give them. 

 

She was happy. That’s all that mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments motivate better than chocolate :)


	5. kiss me breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took so long but college has been insane and i don't have a sugar daddy to pay for it lmao . 
> 
> just a reminder that i write this story bc i love it and if u don't like it u can go and u don't have to say anything . thanks :))

 

The first thought Anya had was that she was very warm—but not uncomfortably so. She was snuggled against something hard yet soft that was breathing quietly.  _ Fuck.  _ So sleeping with her history professor wasn’t a dream. 

 

Well. It wasn’t like she regretted it. She blinked in the darkness and snuggled closer to Gleb, bringing the hand that was on her shoulder to her stomach, covering it with her own. She was enveloped by Vaganov, their legs tangled together, and the unique scent she’d come to recognize as  _ his,  _ lavender and woodsmoke and something else, musty and masculine. 

 

He shifted, and she froze, not wanting to wake him up. Then she felt wetness between her legs.  _ Shit.  _ Had it been a month already? 

 

As if in answer, her core spasmed, and she gasped and bit down on her fist to keep from crying out. Her periods were always horrible, and the first day was always the worst. Now that she was awake, her uterus was shouting at her for not having a baby, and there was no way she could get back to sleep. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow, trying to ignore the cramps for a minute. 

 

She couldn’t. So she growled curses under her breath and slipped out of Gleb’s embrace into the cold, blanketless dark. She grabbed her phone to check the time— 3:17 a.m. She sighed and opened his nightstand drawer, looking for a pen and paper to write him a note, when a sleepy voice murmured, “Anya? What are you doing?” Through the dark, she could see that he’d turned over and was leaning up on his elbows.

 

She winced, several curses running through her mind. “I’m just going to go back to my apartment. I’m fine, go back to bed.” 

 

He turned on the lamp on his nightstand and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, you aren’t going anywhere alone at three in the morning,” he said, throwing off the blankets and walking over to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her head away, not able to meet his compassionate gaze. “ I’ll drive you.” 

 

“No!” she said, too quickly.

 

“Anya, what’s wrong? Is it what we did earlier? Please tell me if I hurt you in any way,” he said softly. He touched her cheek and she fell apart. Tears prickled in her eyes and she blinked angrily and muttered, “No, I-I started my period and I don’t have anything with me.” she finally met his gaze, shocked when she didn’t see laughter or derision. 

 

Instead he pulled her back to bed, cocoons her in blankets and asks what she needs in that irresistibly soft puppy dog voice. She told him, and he vanished to the kitchen, coming back a minute later with water, chocolate, and pain relievers. 

 

He touched her cheek, smiling sadly. “I’m so sorry you’re in pain, Princess. I’m going to go to the store to get you a heating pad, drugs for cramps, and pads. Need anything else?” 

 

She shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around how she found such a wonderful man. 

 

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Text me if anything comes to mind.” he kissed her on the nose and was gone. 

 

Once the front door to the apartment opened and closed, she groaned loudly and clutched her lower stomach. “Fuck.” 

 

And now she faced a dilemma: she could take the Ibuprofen, and maybe it would start to dull the pain, but without food she’d throw up. And chocolate wasn’t enough, but she didn’t want to raid Gleb’s fridge—he’d given her enough. (She couldn’t stomach real food anyway, not with the way her insides were screaming.) 

 

She took a deep breath and sat up. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to motivate herself to walk to the bathroom, when the pain won out and she downed a few pills. She took the water with her to the bathroom and used toilet paper as a makeshift pad. 

 

Thirty minutes later, Gleb found her sitting on the cold, tiled bathroom floor, vomiting into his toilet for the second time. 

 

“Anya!” he said, real worry in his voice. He tossed several grocery bags onto the bed and rushed to her side. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” 

 

A large hand rubbed her back and he held back her hair as she spat into the toilet, panting.  He murmured sweet nothings that gave her a tingly feeling all over.

 

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely, bleary eyes meeting his. 

 

“Do you always throw up on your period?” he asked, going to the sink and filling a glass of water. He knelt by her side and held it out, and she drank slowly. 

 

“No, only if I take Ibuprofen without food.” 

 

“Anya!” he exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. “Why would you do that if you know you’ll throw up?” 

 

“It hurts,” she whimpered, hating that she sounded so pathetic and hating even more that tears sprang to her eyes. She bit her lip, trying to will them away. Damn her stupid uterus. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, I’m not mad at you,” he said, cupping her face with his hands, frustration gone from his voice. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? I brought you some food.” 

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she protested, but he shook his head and picked her up off the floor, carrying her to the bed and setting her down as gently as if she were a newborn. 

 

He set extra pillows behind her back to prop her up and pulled a blanket across her lap, then maneuvered to the foot of the bed for the grocery bags. “So I brought chicken noodle soup, I heard it’s the cure-all for you Americans.” 

 

Anya laughed and then winced, hand going to her stomach. He noticed (because the stupidly attractive man noticed everything) and rummaged through the bags, producing a heating pad and a box of pads. 

 

“I wasn’t sure which one you liked so I bought a couple,” he said sheepishly. 

 

“Oh, those are fine! Thank you, Glebbie,” she smiled. 

 

“That’s not all,” he replied, grinning. He plugged in the heating pad and handed it to her, then set the pads next to her. “Do you want me to help you to the bathroom, or…?” 

 

“It’s fine, I can put it on here. “Unless you don’t want me risking getting your sheets bloody?” 

 

“Oh, I don’t mind. This bed has seen much worse.”

 

Her brows raised, but Gleb just shrugged. “My lips are sealed.” he continued pulling items from the bags and Anya pulled down her pajama bottoms from where she was sitting (difficult, but she’d done this before) and stuck the pad to the panties she’d pulled on earlier. It was a process, and when she’d finished she set the heating pad on high and pressed it to her lower abdomen. 

 

“Better?” he asked. 

 

She nodded, yawning. Sometimes she got insomnia on her period, sometimes she was tired all the time. This month seemed to be the latter. 

 

“Do you want some soup now, Princess?” 

 

Anya licked her lips. “Please, Sir?” 

 

Heat flared in her aching abdomen as his eyes darkened at her words. She loved that she could affect him like that; that her soaked panties were at least somewhat reciprocated by the tightness in his jaw, the bulge in his pants. 

 

Gleb stared at her expectantly, and she blinked, cheeks flushing. “Sorry, did you say something?” 

 

His lips twitched into a smile. “Just asking if my Princess needs someone to feed her.” 

 

She bit her lip. She didn’t know how to define what they had, but  _ God  _ yes she wanted her Daddy to spoon-feed her hot chicken noodle soup while she was bedridden. 

 

So Gleb sat with her, spoon-feeding her soup until she was satiated. She took a few more Ibuprofen and adjusted her heating pad, eyes falling shut. 

 

“Good night, Anya,” Gleb murmured, turning off the lamp and sliding next to her, but his princess had already fallen asleep. 

 

***

 

Gleb had thought about getting out of bed before ten, making breakfast or grading assignments or whatever else professors were supposed to be doing with their lives when not in the classroom. But with Anya wrapped around him like a koala bear, he didn’t have the self-control to face the cold morning air alone. She shifts in his arms, tucking her head under his chin, and he sighed contently. 

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

She yawned, snuggled up to him. “Nice. The heating pad helps a lot.” she pressed it tighter to her abdomen, and he smiled and touched her fingers. 

“What day is it?” 

“Tuesday.” 

Oh, okay. Wait, don’t we have our meeting today?” she remembered the last one with a smile—he had graded her uber-feminist and socially relevant paper with flying colors, leaving her shocked and questioning whether she had judged him too harshly. “

 

Yes, but seeing as the both of us are already here, I see no reason to go to campus when we have the perfect desk here.” he patted the bed, and the thought of Gleb bending her over his desk flashed through her mind. She nodded, pulse jumping at his perfectly innocent plan. 

 

“So,” he continued, and she lifted her chin to meet his dark eyes. “ since we didn’t get a chance to last night, I wanted to finish looking at the contract.” 

 

Anya’s cheeks flushed as she remembers the filthy things they’d done last night, the way Gleb—her  _ Daddy _ —had made her moan. 

 

She pressed her lips to his neck in reply and his arms tightened around her briefly. Then he let go, and she whimpered softly, watching with half-lidded eyes as he sat up and smiled at her. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

 

She pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Sleep. And whipped cream.” 

 

He laughed. “We’ll see what’s in the fridge.” 

 

She murmured softly and closed her eyes, and soft lips pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. She smiled as a finger brushed some hair away from her eyes and then Gleb was walking away, footsteps padding towards the kitchen. 

 

Gleb worked quickly in the kitchen, putting on some sixties jazz and then setting out all the ingredients he needed. 

 

He heard a door open and turned around. 

 

Anya padded towards him, one of his blankets wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. 

 

“Good morning, princess,” he smiled. 

 

She smiled back, walking up to him and placing her hands on his shoulders, the blanket falling off to reveal his old tee-shirt and long bare legs. 

 

He swallowed. “You gonna make yourself useful?” he asked, hoping she didn’t notice the way his voice cracked. 

 

She did, and her lips curled up. “If I’m not too distracting.” 

 

He laughed, shaking his head, and slid a hand down to her waist, kneading the small of her back. 

 

She sucked in a breath, arching against him. 

 

“You’re the distracting one,” she gasped, mumbling against his neck. 

 

He brought his hands up her back, gently scratching between her shoulder blades to calm her down. “Waffles?” he asked. His voice was hoarse. 

 

She lifted her head, lopsided grin lighting up the room. “Let’s do this.” 

 

***

 

Half an hour later, Gleb and Anya sat on his bed, two trays piled high with fruit and waffles between them. 

 

Anya had begged to choose the music, (and he  _ couldn’t  _ say no to that beautiful pout, those big blue eyes) so they listened to haunting indie that made Gleb ache for a love he’d never had. 

 

Well. He picked up a strawberry, gaze dropping to Anya’s lips. “Open,” he said. 

 

Her lips parted immediately, and he brought the strawberry to her mouth, laser-focused on Anya’s pink tongue as she licked at the strawberry’s tip. 

 

She brought her ocean-gray eyes to his as she bit into the luscious berry, juice dribbling down her chin, and a spark of heat travelled from his heart to his dick. 

 

_ God,  _ she was beautiful. He barely breathed as she finished his offering, but air rushed into his lungs when she started licking at his fingers. He pulled his hand away after a beat, not missing the disappointment that rose in her eyes. “So,” he said, clearing his throat and keeping his eyes on hers, not on the mouth that licked red juice from her fingers, or her bare legs and the way  _ his  _ shirt rode up her thighs as she shifted. 

 

He exhaled and continued. “Before we talk about the contract, there’s some stuff I wanted to talk about…”

 

“Okay,” Anya said, drizzling more of the chocolate concoction she’d invented (using all the chocolate she could find in his kitchen) onto her second waffle, blue eyes scanning Gleb’s carefully neutral face. Her heart started to pound in her ears. Was something wrong?

 

“We didn’t talk about something important last night, and I’m so sorry. It’s always a priority to me to make sure everyone feels safe, but I got distracted. Which is no excuse, so—” 

 

She set down the waffle she’d dunked in chocolate. “Gleb, it’s okay. What is it?”

 

He took a deep breath and dove in, knowing that if he put it off any longer he wouldn’t have the courage to say anything. 

 

“I’m clean, I get tested every six months. I also wanted to let you know that I’m on the male birth control pill so if you ever want to have penetrative sex we don’t need a condom—of course, if you’re more comfortable with a condom that’s completely fine with me.” He was babbling at this point, and they both knew it. “So—”

 

“Wait, this is what you were so worried about?” Anya laughed and rubbed her eyes, then reached out to touch Gleb’s arm reassuringly. “I’m not laughing at you, you just scared me. I usually hear much worse news after someone asks if ‘we can talk.’” She trailed off with a sigh.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said earnestly, reaching over the trays to cover her hand with his. “I just… haven’t had a woman stay after a one night stand for a long time.” 

 

“Oh.” Looking at her professor’s physical features, she could hardly believe it, but after getting to know him just a little bit, she’s not surprised that his lost puppy soul had a hard time with hookups. He wants something real, which--

 

“Well, this was more than a one night stand.” she added, cutting off the swirling thoughts in her head that clamored that  _ she  _ was the “something real” he was looking for.

 

He nodded, and moved to sit beside her, pulling her close until she was flush to him. He gently kissed her forehead, and the moment was so tender and intimate Anya felt the sudden urge to cry. (Stupid period.) Instead she cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Did you still want to talk about the contract?” she asked, trying to cheer up the heavy silence. (Not heavy with sadness or pain, but possibility. Anya was quite frightened by what was possible between them.)

 

“Of course,” Gleb replied quickly. But he just stared at her for a moment, bring up a hand to trace her jawline with his finger. 

 

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and when he pulled away a mournful noise came from the back of her throat that she quickly bit back, embarrassed. 

 

He just smiled at her and slid off the bed, opening his dresser’s top drawer. He pulled out a pencil and the folder from last night and returned to her side. 

 

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked quietly, fingers tightening around the pencil and papers. 

 

Anya tilted her head at him, a cold feeling dropping into her stomach at the thought that Gleb thought she was mad at him. “What?” 

 

“When you came here, yesterday. You were upset that I paid your tuition.” 

 

Oh. That. 

 

Anya heaved a sigh. “I’m not mad at you, Gleb,” she promised, touching his hand. “But maybe we can wait on the “buying me stuff” part? I mean, if you still even want to—I don’t want to assume—” she cut herself off a blush rising to her cheeks, and looked away. “Sorry. I just—this is all new and kind of a lot and I’m on my fucking period and I just—” 

 

“Princess,” Gleb said, quiet but firm, and Anya blinked and looked up at him, not wanting to think about how his voice affected her so strongly. He was a siren, and she’d gladly jump overboard to fall into his strong, merman arms. She snorted at the image. 

 

Gleb looked at her. 

 

“Sorry. Just imagining you as a mermaid.” 

 

Gleb laughed aloud at that, and Anya wanted to hear that noise every day of her life. 

 

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, Princess,” he said then, and Anya swallowed. 

 

“I... “ she frowned, about to say, “I’m sorry.” 

 

“I’ll work on it,” she said after a heartbeat, and he smiled at her. “Good girl.” 

 

Heat flared through her at the words, and she took a deep breath, hoping he didn’t notice the effect he had on her. 

 

But those dark eyes saw everything, and when she looked back at him he was smirking. 

 

“What?” she scowled. 

 

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Ready to talk about the contract?” 

 

She nodded, nerves fluttering in her stomach. 

 

“So, in order for you to get the full experience, I was thinking we could maybe go to a BDSM club if you’re interested.” Gleb glanced at her from under dark brows, opening up the blue folder.

 

She bit her lip. “Are you interested?” 

 

He opens his mouth to reply and nothing came out for a second. “I’m—if it’s something you want, we can do it,” he said, not meeting her gaze.

 

She frowned, and reached out to touch his hand. “I only want to do things if  _ you  _ want to do them too,” she said softly.

 

Gleb’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I just—I don’t want you to miss out on the full experience. The club scene can be very enlightening for some people, so I—”

 

“But you haven’t had good experiences with it,” Anya guessed, intertwining their fingers. Gleb’s hand was trembling slightly. 

 

“No,” he admitted, and at the small word all the tension drained from his divine body. 

 

“Hey,” she murmured, sitting up onto her knees and turning to face him completely. “If I have the right to object to things, you have the right to only share the ideas you want to do too—no matter what other people think or say.” 

 

He scratched his neck. “God, you’re amazing. But are you sure, Princess?”

 

A shiver ran through her at the nickname but she ignored it and nodded. “You’re enough for me, Professor.”

 

He swallowed and opened up the folder, needing the distraction of the papers before him to keep him from saying something ridiculous that neither of them were ready for. 

 

“So. Monogamy?” he asked, handing Anya the folder so she could read through it. 

 

“Yeah,” she says after a beat, nodding slowly. “I’d like that.  Do-do you? Because if you want to see other people, that’s fine—“she started, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of gleb dating someone else-  _ fucking _ them.

 

“No!” Gleb said quickly, And her eyes jump to his, startled at the look on his face. Like even considering the question hurts him. “I’m a one-woman kind of guy,” he admitted, touching her hand. “And I… I’ve had my heart broken so many times, I can’t just date around.” He ducked his head, and Anya realized this is the first time she’s seen him so...  _ flustered _ . And it hurts her. “I understand.” 

 

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he trailed his fingers across her stomach, making her jump, giggling. 

 

“Fuck, that tickles,” she gasped, squirming away from his big hands. 

 

He raised a brow. “Language. You know what, that’s going to be one of the rules.” 

 

“What?” Anya demanded, sitting up and pouting as she watched him write in the contract. 

 

“Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. Anya couldn’t keep her eyes off his lips. 

 

“No swearing in the classroom. Or bedroom. Each curse word is a point that you’ll keep tally of. At the end of the week, we’ll count them and decide your punishment.” 

 

Anya’s eyes were wide. “Like what?” 

 

“The punishment?” Gleb’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Spanking. Maybe you won’t get to orgasm for a week. We’ll see what we come up with, right Princess?” he tickled her stomach again. 

 

“Ah! Yes, Daddy,” she gasped, laughing and grabbing for his hands. 

 

“Oh, no, those hands will stay here,” Gleb growled, tossing the contract aside and holding her wrists in one large hand, lifting them above her head. 

 

He moved to kneel over her, caging her in with his powerful body, and Anya bit back a moan, cheeks flushing scarlet. 

 

_ God,  _ she was pathetic—he hadn’t even touched her and she felt a touch away from coming, body vibrating with heat.

 

Gleb disagreed. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck with his free hand, other hand still holding her hands above her head. 

 

She closed her eyes, gasping as he ever-so-softly bit down on her collarbone. 

 

“Fuck.” 

 

“That’s one, Miss Romanoff,” Gleb murmured against her skin, and she groaned. “Just kiss me, Daddy?” she asked.

 

He smiled, lips hovering barely an inch above hers, and she arched beneath him, trying to catch his perfect mouth. 

 

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her. But still he avoided her lips, and she growled in frustration.

 

“Please?”

  
  


Anya’s eyes were so bright beneath him, and Gleb forgot himself for a moment, gazing into her cerulean depths. 

 

She arched again, and he slammed his lips against hers, treasuring the whimper he elicited from his princess. His girl. 

 

He remembered now, who he was. 

 

A Dom who could be good, and be taken care of. And take care of others. One in particular. 

 

He met Anya’s lips again, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, reveling in the fact that she opened for him. 

 

She trusted him. 

 

And he—he had too many emotions to put into words. So he kissed her breathless, and hoped she understood the things he couldn’t say. 

**Author's Note:**

> note: Dimitry is not the con-man in this story :)
> 
> russian dictionary: 
> 
> zaika - bunny  
> kroshka - little one  
> sladkiy - sweetness
> 
> i got these translations from a blog so please correct me if they're wrong :0
> 
> leave a comment and i'll give you a beautiful word !


End file.
